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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25560457">I Wish I Was the Moon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyojinouji/pseuds/kyojinouji'>kyojinouji</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>little dark age [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ATEEZ (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fullmetal Alchemist 2003/Brotherhood Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Brakebills but Walmart Brand, Fae &amp; Fairies, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of self-harm, Mutual Pining, Occasional violence, Oh Look Another War, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Otherselves, Polyamory, Smut, Sometimes Limbs Get Lost, The Magicians AU, as a treat, mentions of depression, misunderstandings galore, sort of???, that's a big one, you'll see when we get there</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:13:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>83,946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25560457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyojinouji/pseuds/kyojinouji</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Never having quite moved beyond his obsession with magic and the children's book series, The Treasure Key, Kang Yeosang strives to create the world's next bestseller and double-time as a Creative Writing professor. The first step, however, is getting his master's degree. One haywire entrance exam later, he finds himself caught up in the whirlwind fantasy universe living beneath his feet.<br/>And here, magic has always been real. </p><p>OR</p><p>Sometimes, good looks and book smarts aren't enough to convince your best friend to fall in love with you. </p><p>✧ Based on The Magicians TV series. ✧</p><p>Connected to Who Will Breathe the Earth We Lost / The Earth We Lost series, but they do not need to be read together. Both are separate plots with cameos from the WWBTEWL universe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Choi Jongho/Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>little dark age [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. aqua vitae</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW// Past Self-Harm, brief injury, sexual content.</p><p>The chapter opens DIRECTLY into brief smut so like...you've been warned.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ This is part of the Who Will Breathe the Earth We Lost spin-offs. You do not need to read WWBTEWL to understand what is going on. They are loosely connected WAY further into this fic and everything from the other story is reiterated when the universes come together. ✧</p><p>- Check out the playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=KNxHsKVJRgiyCo-fg7hE5w"> <em> “Towards the sky; jump. </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=KNxHsKVJRgiyCo-fg7hE5w"> <em> Spread your wings and turn. </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=KNxHsKVJRgiyCo-fg7hE5w"> <em> In rain or shine, we’re just dancing in the rain. </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=KNxHsKVJRgiyCo-fg7hE5w"> <em>  We're living for love. </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=KNxHsKVJRgiyCo-fg7hE5w"> <em> The one who recognized me– </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=KNxHsKVJRgiyCo-fg7hE5w"> <em> I match my steps with yours and I’m dancing with you. </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=KNxHsKVJRgiyCo-fg7hE5w"> <em>  Let’s go higher; we’re in a trance. </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=KNxHsKVJRgiyCo-fg7hE5w"> <em> In the fog, the rain drenches us more. </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=KNxHsKVJRgiyCo-fg7hE5w"> <em>  Since morning you and I wait for the rain.” </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=KNxHsKVJRgiyCo-fg7hE5w"> <b> <em>Dancing in the Rain</em> </b> <em> - Rad Museum </em> </a>
</p><p>
  <em> 🜄 ✧ 🜁  </em>
</p><p>      “I got married last night.” Wooyoung’s voice breaks through the pleasure that builds in Yeosang’s stomach like dry ice. “I think,” he continues, smiling up at the older through thick lashes. “Honestly, I don’t remember.”</p><p>      “Fuck, Wooyoung,” Yeosang groans, fidgeting under the other man’s touch. His fingers thread easily through his hair and he gives the strands a tug. “Can we have this conversation when your mouth isn’t supposed to be on my dick?” The brunette laughs, licking a clean stripe up Yeosang’s cock. Before his lips enclose the tip again, he smiles devilishly. </p><p>      “Jealous of another man, Sangie?” He hums. “No one compares to you. I mean, his dick was <em> godly </em>, but yours is sweeter.” His laughter constricts the wet, hot space around Yeosang and the blonde immediately sees white. After a few moments, Wooyoung pops off of him with a satisfied smirk. Dragging a finger through the sticky mess that has seemingly appeared out of nowhere, he acts as though he is going to lick it off his hand, before quickly pressing the pad of his thumb to Yeosang’s tongue. “Cute,” he whispers as the older makes a deep and dangerous noise. </p><p>      Basking in the post-orgasm glow, Yeosang chuckles when Wooyoung straddles his hips and gently kisses him. “I need to shower,” he tries to say against the brunette’s mouth. Instead, Wooyoung takes the opportunity to nip at his bottom lip. “Woo, <em> please </em>. The exam is today.” It isn’t his fault he still feels oversensitive. When the younger finally rolls off of him, Yeosang catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. </p><p>      His hair had been in a small ponytail, but now, it was sticking up in a million different directions. The scrunchy that was holding it all together had apparently migrated to Wooyoung’s wrist. Another one lost to his best friend’s growing collection. The makeup from last night had slowly begun to travel down his cheeks, no doubt thanks to Wooyoung pushing his face into the pillow, and his neck was plastered in red marks. </p><p>      “How am I supposed to go the testing center like this, you brat?” Yeosang grumbles, picking a t-shirt off of the ground with a frown. It’s obviously Wooyoung’s, but his own is halfway across the room and he really doesn’t feel the need to walk that far. “Seriously, how is it going to look when I walk into an entrance exam in a turtleneck? It’s summer.” </p><p>      Wooyoung laughs and flips onto his stomach to scroll through his phone. “You weren’t complaining when I did it–” The stray sock that slams into the brunette’s face cuts off his sentence entirely. “Why are you so angry? Wear a turtleneck and that charcoal blazer I got you for Christmas. You’ll look like a hot professor. Master’s programs probably like that kind of thing.” </p><p>      Yeosang rolls his eyes and takes a step toward the bathroom just as Wooyoung jumps off the bed. “Where are you going exactly?” He asks, staring daggers at the younger man. Wooyoung smiles widely. </p><p>      “I’m going to shower.”</p><p>      “You’re going to sit your ass down and let me have my bathroom to myself for once,” Yeosang grumbles, trying to edge in the opposite direction. “Seriously, Wooyoung, can I–” He can’t even finish his sentence by the time the other man is already cranking on the water. “Don’t make it too hot,” Yeosang calls in defeat. It was pointless, though, since Wooyoung settled only on the approximate temperature of hellfire just to make himself feel at home.</p><p> </p><p>      It’s as Yeosang is shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth that Wooyoung decides now is the time to continue their earlier conversation. “I’m serious, Sangie, I don’t know what to do. He was so beautiful, but when I woke up, he was gone. Imagine your newly-wed husband leaving you the morning after.” Yeosang snorts into his bowl. This is not the conversation he wants to be having at 10AM. Truly, it isn’t one he wants to go through ever, but Wooyoung has never been one for subtleties. </p><p>      “To be fair,” the older mumbles, swallowing the bite, “I don’t think I would get married during a one-night stand.”</p><p>      “It wasn’t on purpose!” Wooyoung’s screech bounces off of the apartment walls. “His dick–”</p><p>      “Dude!” Yeosang yells, pelting the other with a stray cornflake. “Literally, not while I’m eating.” The brunette narrows his eyes. It had always been like this. When they were children, Yeosang made sure to instill his boundaries in Wooyoung’s mind. The younger, however, had hardly any of his own. Across the table, Wooyoung crosses his arms. </p><p>      “When am I going to have a chance to tell you about it then? You always have some kind of excuse.” He’s right. Yeosang knows that he is, but that doesn’t bite back the soft irritation that plagues his thoughts. Instead, Yeosang sighs.</p><p>      “Go on then. Where did you two tie the knot?” </p><p>      Wooyoung grins wildly and launches into the tale; not noticing the way Yeosang’s face fell with every word. It had always been like this. They would always be like this. Yeosang pining after his childhood best friend while the other went galavanting with the flavor of the week. It didn’t upset him; not really. They had been raised on fairytales and shooting stars, but the world couldn’t mimic the perfection of those universes. Falling stars were nothing more than fiery rocks.</p><p>      “The chapel smelled like sweat and booze. It was disgusting,” Wooyoung says. His fingers wrap around the misty glass of orange juice he had been gingerly sipping on over breakfast. He sniffs it and pulls a bizarre grimace before chugging the whole thing in a single go. Yeosang raises an eyebrow. “What’s that face?” The younger asks, gaze raking over the other’s features.</p><p>      “You two went to a chapel?”</p><p>      Wooyoung laughs bitterly and sets the empty cup down. “Surprised?” Yeosang nods, pulling another chuckle from his friend. “I was too. The hotel bar had one connected to it.” Hotel bar? Wooyoung hadn’t mentioned they had actually rented a room somewhere. The guy– Wooyoung’s one-night husband– had the audacity to marry him without even taking him home? The thought makes Yeosang’s stomach toil.</p><p>      It was too similar to so many of the other men Wooyoung had tried to give his heart to; except, this one came with an added shackle. Yeosang finishes his meal in near silence. Wooyoung, having moved on to some topic about a boy band he was getting into, did not question the change in the atmosphere.</p><p>      Even after they were dressed and walking down the city sidewalks, the tension didn’t seem to lift. Yeosang knew that he was probably imagining it. Until, suddenly, Wooyoung stopped in the middle of the crosswalk. His dark eyes wide, he cocked his head. </p><p>      “You’re angry, aren’t you?” He called, watching Yeosang continue across the street. Whirling around, Yeosang took in the way the man’s dark hair whipped around his delicate features. The small mole under his eye. The red scarf pulled away from his mouth, but soft and inviting. “Don’t be angry!”</p><p>      Huffing in annoyance, Yeosang cups his palms around his lips. “Get out of the road!” Wooyoung stops his foot once and doesn’t budge. “Young-ah, come on!”</p><p>      “Are you angry?” Wooyoung calls again. Yeosang can’t help but roll his eyes. A glance at the digital billboard at the bus stop beside him shows the 12:45PM time. They had exactly 15 minutes to get half-way across the city. 15 minutes to get to the exam center that would either push or pull them away from the master’s programs that would change their lives forever. And yet, Yeosang still found himself smiling behind his hand; hiding the expression from Wooyoung. </p><p>      “I’m not angry, you dork,” he says. Wooyoung bursts into a grin that could rival sunlight, sugar, spice, and all that bullshit. Wooyoung might as well be the sun itself. Just as the clock changes to 12:46PM and the crosswalk countdown spins to ‘0’, the younger is pulling him into a tight hug. “We have to go,” he mumbles into the knit of Wooyoung’s coat. “We can’t be late.” </p><p>      Wooyoung releases him from the kraken-like hold he was wrapped in and instead intertwines their fingers. Just like children, he pulls him down the street with a skip in his step. One day, the person Wooyoung dragged behind him wouldn’t be Yeosang. It would not be Yeosang that sat across from him at breakfast. It would not be Yeosang that sat underneath their ancient kitchen table to trace the map they drew years ago. It would not be Yeosang. One day, they would make their own lives. Yet, he was not devastated. For Wooyoung’s happiness– his future– he could never be devastated. He could only stand beside the brunette, loving him from a safe distance, and support his choices; no matter how impulsive they might be.</p><p>      12:56PM. “There’s the sign!” Wooyoung yelled as they ran through the echoing halls of the testing center. It was a large-scale conference hall, one that was impossible to navigate, and the directions were scarce. It was a mass conglomeration of wild notes and breadcrumbs leading to the room they were supposed to be in. “It says take the elevator.”</p><p>      “We’d have to wait for that,” Yeosang groans, internally stomping his foot. “What floor does it say?” Wooyoung glances back at the dark printer ink coating the page. </p><p>      “Four.” His eyes land on Yeosang’s just as the other cocks his head toward the stairwell. “You can’t be serious. That’s–” </p><p>      “We don’t have time to discuss,” Yeosang interrupts, grabbing Wooyoung’s wrist. “Get ready to sprint. I hope your ass training has been doing something for your legs too.” The younger does not have a second to complain before they are running up flight after flight of grey vinyl. He doesn’t even stop to catch his breath before he is yanking the brunette through the fourth floor’s entrance. <em> 12:58PM. </em> “Oh fuck,” he says, eyes meeting the labyrinth of classrooms. </p><p>      It’s then that a tall man, his features chiseled like stone, opens the door at the farthest end of the hall. His grey-blonde hair is perfectly styled into a careful swoop and the light blue button-up he wears screams professional. He peers down the corridor, obviously looking for something, before his cold gaze lands on the two. His brows furrow and within a breath, he is speed-walking towards them. </p><p>      “Kang Yeosang and Jung Wooyoung?” He asks before he even reaches the corridor’s halfway point. When the two nod slowly, uncertain of what kind of expression to pull, he sighs. “We were waiting for you.”</p><p>      “We weren’t late–”</p><p>      “Yet,” the man says. “You weren’t late yet. However, you were the only ones missing, and the proctor was getting worried.”</p><p>      Wooyoung frowns. “Why would the proctor worry about two random students?” Before Yeosang can scold him, he realizes that the younger is right. There was no reason to wait for anyone; especially not two kids who had the audacity to run late to their grad-school exam. Instead of answering, the man just ushers them down the hall. </p><p>      “We care about everyone that takes the exam, Wooyoung,” he says softly. It’s practiced, like he has had to say it a hundred times. Probably, he has. “Come on. Eden doesn’t exactly like to wait that long.” When they enter the classroom, Yeosang is struck with the sudden realization that they had never told the other who was who. Yet, he had called Wooyoung by his name. Brushing it off as dumb luck, he takes in their surroundings. </p><p>      There are not nearly as many students as he was expecting. Instead, the space was filled by about thirty people. Each one was seated at the long testing booths with their back to the entrance. In the direct center, two desks had been left empty with the exam packets stacked neatly on both. Presumably, they were for Yeosang and Wooyoung. It’s when Wooyoung glances to the front of the room, however, that the world seems to spin to a halting screech. </p><p>      “Oh shit,” he whispers, “that’s my husband– the one with the black hair in the front row.”</p><p>      “Your–” Yeosang is cut off by the clearing of someone’s throat. Whirling around, a man with blonde hair to his chin stands with his hands neatly settled on his hips. “Later,” Yeosang growls at Wooyoung and offers the newcomer a sheepish smile. <em> Fuck </em>.</p><p>      “Thank you, Seonghwa. You can take your seat.” The boy from earlier bows and brushes past them carefully. On his way, he reaches out to gently squeeze Yeosang’s shoulder. It’s a subtle gesture, but oddly appreciated. The other man takes a step forward and motions to the two empty booths. “Hello, boys. My name is Kim Yonghwan, but my students just call me Eden.” He pauses, sizing up the two boys, before offering a tired sigh. “I presume that you can find your seats?” </p><p>      Both men whisper hushed assurances as they spin toward their chairs. Of course, it would be the proctor of the exam that they embarrass themselves in front of. Not only that, but it just so happened to be one of the professors. Or rather, Yeosang could assume. He had never heard the name before, however, there had to be plenty at the school they were applying to. It’s when he sits down at his seat, clearly marked Kang Yeosang, that he notices the detailed butterfly embossment on the front of the exam. Its gold stamp glitters at him as he tilts his head this way and that. Nonetheless, the name of the college does not change. </p><p>      Hudson University was well-known for its Master of Fine Arts programs. Yeosang’s focus had always been creative writing, from the moment he picked up his first copy of The Treasure Key series. Getting a MFA in writing seemed like the best step in life. Wooyoung, on the other hand, was aiming for the school’s MFA in dance. Both were top-rated, but admission meant taking the pre-assessment to know if they were cut out to meet the general requirements. So, why was a different school’s name staring him in the face?</p><p>      “Um...” His voice comes out soft, reserved even, and hardly draws the attention of Wooyoung, let alone the people he is trying to attract. “Excuse me?” He calls, watching the other students face him immediately. It’s like pulling all of the air in the room into that one spot– a vacuum. Even Seonghwa, the boy now lifting his eyebrow skyhigh, stares at him like he is an anomaly. “I thought this was the admissions for Hudson University?” </p><p>      Eden chuckles quietly, but walks the length of the front with his head high. If Yeosang saw him on the street, he would never dare speak to a man that radiated so much power. So much ethereal grace. He stops just in front of their row. “I promise, you will like this option better, Mr. Kang. Just wait for a moment and we will begin the test.”</p><p>      “But, I came here for–”</p><p>      “You’ve basically already gotten into Hudson, dude,” someone speaks from the corner. His blue hair is pushed away from his face in such a graceful manner that Yeosang wants nothing more than to run his fingers through it. “Consider this a chance to show us what you’ve really got.” Yeosang finds his gaze settling back onto the college’s boldfaced title. ‘<em> Utopia </em> – <em> Pulvis et umbra sumus.’ </em> We are but dust and shadows.</p><p>      Rather than fighting further, Yeosang slumps into the chair with a defeated sigh. They had his name. They had Wooyoung’s, too. It was obvious that they were meant to be here, but why? Why had they been strong armed into something they knew nothing about? As his thoughts run rampant, he feels the heavy gaze of someone. </p><p>      Lifting his head, the black-haired boy in the front row makes direct eye contact with him. At first, it is like feeling something click into place. A rush of heat hits his cheeks all at once as he realizes the attention is truly on him. For a second, it is uncomfortable, but then, the man winks and spins back around in his seat. And then, it's as though a bucket of water has been dumped over him. Wooyoung’s one-night stand. <em> Wooyoung’s husband. </em></p><p>      Before he can think about the odd exchange, Eden is speaking to the group. “This exam is not what you are going to be used to. All we ask is that you do your absolute best to answer the questions. The pages will transcribe directly to us and we will grade you as you go. However,” he pauses, eyes raking over the faces in the room slowly, “If we determine that you are unfit to join us in Utopia, we will call your name and excuse you from the testing room.” </p><p>      And with that, Yeosang watches the man flip a golden hourglass that sits on the front table. As the sand begins to filter to the bottom, he tosses open the first page of the booklet. With a soft gasp, Yeosang realizes that it is scrawled in a language that he has never seen. It is enough of a shock to make his heart drop out of his ass. How was he expected to pass an exam that wasn’t written in Korean or English? </p><p>
  <em> ‘Wrætlic hongað bi weres þeo </em>
</p><p>
  <em> frean under sceate foran is þyrel </em>
</p><p>
  <em> bið stiþ ⁊ heard stede hafað godne · </em>
</p><p>
  <em> þonne se esne his agen hrægl </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ofer cneo hefeð wile þæt cuþe hol </em>
</p><p>
  <em> mid his hangellan heafde gretan </em>
</p><p>
  <em> þæt he efe lang ær oft gefylde.’  </em>
</p><p>      It’s a riddle; that much he can tell at a glance. And certainly, it is written in Old English. However, it makes no sense to place something like that in an exam for a masters program. Not everyone was forced to take a course over the history of the English language. In particular, he had chosen it as an elective during his third year of undergrad just to fulfill a few requisites. It was a double-dipper and let him skip an entire semester of British literature. </p><p>      Only then, does the room feel as though it has begun to swelter. Yeosang’s heart rate picks up, drumming against his chest like a daisy pushing through concrete cracks. For a second, his head swims through all of the negative situations he might have just found himself in. Whether it be an early onset heart attack or dehydration, his body threatens to black out. That is, until he glances at the question again. The words swim on the page, rearranging and fluttering like moths in an open warehouse. </p><p>
  <em> “Splendidly it hangs by a man’s thigh, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> under the master’s cloak. In front is a hole. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It is stiff and hard; it has a goodly place. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When the young man his own garment </em>
</p><p>
  <em> lifts over his knee, he wishes to visit </em>
</p><p>
  <em> with the head of what hangs the familiar hole </em>
</p><p>
  <em> he had often filled with its equal length.” </em>
</p><p>      At first, his eyes run over the page again and again. Where the archaic language once was printed, now something written in clear English had made its home. Not only that, but it was a riddle Yeosang was familiar with. History of the English Language elective be damned, they had covered this exact Anglo-Saxon poem before. Originating from the Exeter Book in approximately 1072, the riddle was meant to be an ancient dick joke. The thought makes him smirk as he quickly scrawls down the true answer in the response blank. </p><p>
  <em>       ‘A key.’ </em>
</p><p>      The questions all pass in the same manner. Things written in languages he had never interacted with suddenly became clear. Chemical components of turning lead to gold were easily located in his memory. Identifying sigils and runes pertaining to Gods from mythologies that had never been documented in the modern era. The effects of iron on the fair folk under the hill. The particular way to eliminate a threat with a thirst for blood. The exam was filled to the brim with things he had answers to. However, how did they apply to a college acceptance? And rather, why did he have the responses?</p><p>      It was when the gnawing thought grew to be too loud that his own name was called. The professor stands from his chair, a hand on his hip, and stares Yeosang down with the weight of the world. As the ricocheting sound bounces off the lecture hall’s walls, Yeosang looks around at the remaining students. Only about fifteen remain, including Wooyoung and the owner of the most godly dick his best friend had apparently ever seen. He hadn’t heard anyone else’s name be called. Yet, they obviously had been. </p><p>      A glance at Wooyoung and he realizes with a cold drip of suspicion that the younger hasn’t even shifted his focus from the test. Yeosang doesn’t have a moment to say anything, though, as Eden appears before him. The man cocks his head slightly and sizes the Yeosang up like prey in the center of an open field. Then, he motions toward the door with a frown. </p><p>      “Hongjoong will lead you to the conference room,” he says and glances in the direction of the blue-haired boy. “Answer his questions honestly.” With that, the blonde moves back to the front of the room like an apparition. Yeosang feels his heart stutter for a brief moment. Leaving Wooyoung in this situation didn’t feel right. Nothing about this felt right. Yet, he still let their paths split as he followed the moving mop of blue out of the room. </p><p>      As they enter the hallway, Hongjoong’s cat-like gaze falls onto his face. It draws down his figure slowly, taking in every detail, before he sighs heavily. “I’m sorry about that,” he says, leaning against the wall. “Everything will make sense in a few minutes, but I need you to listen to what I’m about to tell you.” </p><p>      Yeosang sucks in a breath. “I don’t think I really have a choice, do I?” He quips to the other man. Maybe in another life, he wouldn’t have the instinct to defend himself with sarcasm. Maybe, he could just hold a conversation without the constant fear of judgement and displeasure coursing through his veins like negative electricity. This was not another universe, and yet, Hongjoong does not seem to be put off by the bitter toxins.</p><p>      “No, you do. I just think it’s in your best interest to listen to me before I let this damn school accidentally throw another magician into the real world.” The word ‘magician’ hangs in the air like a hot-air balloon. For a moment, he wonders if he should add a quiet, ‘You’re a wizard, Harry,’ to the blue-haired boy’s statement, but Hongjoong has already moved past the concept. “I’m going to get straight to the point, okay, Yeosang? They’re going to wipe your memory. Or at least, they’re making me do it.”</p><p>      “Excuse me?” He utters, eyes wide. “What the fuck do you mean by that?” The dude was obviously batshit. It was enough to make him start looking for the nearest escape route. No school was worth whatever wack-ass hazing this was. When his attention falls back onto Hongjoong, however, his face is icy.</p><p>      “Utopia isn’t just a university. It’s a training ground for the magically inclined– which you were suspected of being until your doubt got the better of you,” Hongjoong says, shifting his weight awkwardly between the balls of his feet and his heels. Every time he does it, his ankles look like they are about to snap. “It’s like Hogwarts, but real. Eden founded it nearly three-hundred years ago to keep kids like us out of trouble.” He pauses, his gaze falling onto the toes of his beat up converse. They’re covered in dozens of tiny pen scribbles. “I need you to remember me. Remember this. We’ll find you, but I just need time to convince Eden to give you a second chance.”</p><p>      A world of magic. It’s like being launched into the first novel of The Treasure Key. There was something else out there that didn’t involve analyzing the poetry of dead white men. There was something that wasn’t made of offices and cubicles and dreary days that no one wanted to get out of bed. There was something out there. And Yeosang wasn’t allowed anywhere near it.</p><p>      Yeosang doesn’t speak. Instead, he watches the way Hongjoong seems to curl in on himself as the silence grows. The man was able to command the room before, but now, he looks like he would rather be anywhere else. A bleeding heart, Yeosang assumes. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell some random kid that the magical world supposedly lying beneath their own existed. Let alone, that the kid would never get to experience it. It was a gutter-wild idea. Obviously, the entire ‘school’ was hopped up on a pill cocktail.</p><p>      “What in the fuck are you talking about?” Yeosang practically shouts. It’s a sound full of disbelief and absolute mystification. “Magic? You expect me to believe that you can all sprinkle a bit of pixie dust and fly?” As he says it, he wishes he could take it back. It would be so much easier to lose himself to the dauntless adventure of the guards in The Treasure Key. Maybe after this, he would go home and read the first book again. Just to remind himself how outlandish magic actually was. “I’m leaving.” </p><p>      “You can’t!” Hongjoong yelps, chasing after him. “Please, please, you can’t. If you leave, they can’t go through with the procedure and I’ll get kicked out.”</p><p>      “Why should that matter to me?” Yeosang shouts, this time reaching a higher octave. “You joined a damn cult, dude, it’s not my responsibility to protect you.” It’s when he tries to break away again that the final blow is delivered. It’s like having his heart pulled from his chest as Hongjoong says,</p><p>      “<em> Wooyoung </em>.”</p><p>      Yeosang whirls around, eyes blazing, and marches up to the other man until they are nose to nose. Hongjoong’s shorter stature makes it difficult not to lean down entirely. “Are you going to threaten him? What do you fucking know about him?” He growls. Hongjoong’s shoulders square up significantly as he realizes Yeosang’s weak point was exactly what he expected. </p><p>      Hongjoong shakes his head. “Of course not. Just know that if you leave, if you give this all up and don’t let me help you, things will never be the same between you two.” Yeosang furrows his brows. </p><p>      “What do you mean by that?”</p><p>      Hongjoong shrugs. “They’ve already seen that he is proficient in physical magic. You didn’t think he was so light on his feet without a bit of help, did you?” The statement catches Yeosang off guard. Wooyoung had always been praised as one of the most graceful dancers his coaches and professors had ever seen. His leaps had a way of suspending him in the air like faery. “Wooyoung, if he accepts it, will be going to Utopia.”</p><p>      “He won’t accept,” Yeosang says, heart slamming against his ribs. He prays that his voice doesn’t sound as choked up as he feels; that the tears aren’t visible as they brim in his eyes. “He would never leave me.”</p><p>      “If they lie to him, he might.” Hongjoong’s voice is tender enough that it almost seems like he actually cares. As though he has been through something similar before. “They’ll do everything they can to get him, Yeosang. Even if it means telling him that you’ll be there too. Even if it means threatening you. They’ll find a way to pull in someone as strong as him.”</p><p>      For some reason, the comment blooms something in Yeosang’s chest. “He’s strong?” He asks quietly. Pride. The garden that blossoms within is filled with pride. “Why should I get in the way of that? If any of this is true, why should I mess with his chance to meet people like him?”</p><p>      “Because you’re one of us, Yeosang. You’re like him,” Hongjoong says. “The exam sensed your apprehension and it kicked you out. Personally, I think that’s the stupidest reason to prevent someone with your skills from joining us. So, will you give me a chance to help?” </p><p>
  <em>       What did he have to lose; other than everything?  </em>
</p><p>      “Yeah,” he says, watching Hongjoong’s expression light up like a firework display. “Help me get into your damn magic school.” What he doesn’t expect is for Hongjoong to tell him to shut his eyes tightly. It’s a second between him obeying the command and the soft skin of the other’s fingers as he grips his palm tightly. The man rolls up Yeosang’s sleeve just enough to reveal the upper part of his forearm.</p><p>      “This is going to hurt,” he mutters as a sharp pain rushes through Yeosang’s limb. With a gasp, his eyes shoot open to meet the growing crimson slash that runs down the inner bend of his elbow. Hissing, he yanks his limb back from the other’s grasp.</p><p>      “Dude,” Yeosang groans, “what the fuck?”</p><p>      “It worked for Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says with a frown. “When they took his memories, he panicked because his parents had basically bred him to be a top healer. It was the only thing he could think of that would help him remember.” He frowns as he takes in the other scars that line that blonde’s arms. “Oh.”</p><p>      Yeosang pulls the fabric of his sleeve down quickly. They were not marks that he was proud of, but they were part of him. “If you’re wondering whether or not I’ll be able to tell the difference between new and old,” he says softly, trying to meet Hongjoong’s avoidant focus, “I’ve been clean for about three years.” </p><p>      “That’s incredible,” Hongjoong whispers, an embarrassed flush covering his cheeks. It’s a distant comment, one that Yeosang has heard a hundred times. He knows that Hongjoong’s heart is elsewhere, though, and he observes the way he fidgets with the rings on his fingers. “I should have asked first. I’m so sorry.” </p><p>      Yeosang places a palm on the man’s shoulder with a delicate smile. “You’re desperate to help people,” he says. “I don’t blame you and I’m not angry. Though, next time, warn someone first.” His other hand presses against the site of the injury. “Why did you do that, though?” </p><p>      Hongjoong frowns. “My boyfriend, Seonghwa, didn’t pass his exam originally. Once the test kicks you out, it’s game over.” Hongjoong removes one of the rings that bands around his index finger. Its intertwining silver engravings mimic the design of an ornate frame. In the center of a sharp-edged diamond, an azure gem glitters. “We’re high school friends. This ring was his grandfather’s and when I found it on the ground outside the exam room, I knew there was an issue. He left it behind like a breadcrumb.” Hongjoong holds it out for Yeosang to examine. “He used it to do the exact same thing I just did for you. That way, he would never forget about how he got the scar.”</p><p>      “Didn’t they notice?” Yeosang asks as Hongjoong carefully leads him back to the room. “The person in charge of sending him back into the world.” How would one not see the effects of the injury? The blood seeping through his clothing? </p><p>      Hongjoong shakes his head and pushes the tall wooden door of the conference room open gently. It groans under his weight as it shifts.  “To be fair, there are a lot of things people don’t spot when there is a bigger issue at hand. I’m actually surprised that they are letting me be responsible for clearing your mind.” </p><p>      “Why can’t you just let me go? If you’re in charge of things, can’t you just say you did it?” The room is small, obviously an office, and lined to the brim with books. Hongjoong gestures at the leather armchair positioned before the grand mahogany desk in the center of the room. When Yeosang settles into the seat, the blue haired boy reaches under the desk to pull out a small glass horse. </p><p>      “What do you think this is?” Hongjoong asks instead of answering the younger’s question. “Just point-blank.” He places it onto the wooden surface with a small <em> tink </em>. The blonde only stares back at him, mouth opening and closing like a distraught flounder.</p><p>      “Excuse me?”</p><p>      “You know,” Hongjoong says, leaning against the edge of the desk. “I’m getting really sick of hearing you ask that. I’m serious, Kang Yeosang, what do you see?” </p><p>      Reaching out, Yeosang cradles the tiny sculpture in his palms. It is no larger than a box of Altoids and crystalline enough that dozens of vibrant, iridescent fractals collect the light and bounce around the room. “It’s just a horse,” Yeosang says, glaring daggers at the piece of glass in his grip. “What else do you expect me to see?” </p><p>      Hongjoong hums and moves closer. “There’s nothing else?” With that, the man smacks the horse out of his hands. In a second, it hits the floor and shatters into a hundred shards. </p><p>      “Dude, what the fuck?” Yeosang yelps, pulling his feet into the chair as though the creature would regather its pieces and chase his ankles like a yappy dog. “What are you people on? I’m leaving,” he says for the second time that day. Hongjoong’s fingers shoot out to tug the fabric of his sleeve; stopping him from moving. “Let me go. For God’s sake, I just want to go home.”<br/>
“Look at it, Yeosang.” Hongjoong’s voice is low. “I need you to focus on every bit of that horse you can see.” Yeosang can’t help but glance back down at the fragments. Hongjoong’s demands were too powerful; full of every ounce of leaderly aura that he was able to command a room with. It was as though the man earlier, curled in on himself and dancing around topics, was nowhere to be found. “Close your eyes and remember what it looked like before.”</p><p>      “The last time I shut my eyes,” Yeosang grumbles, doing as he is told, “you made me bleed.” He lets his mind wander back to the scene only moments earlier. The fragile beast cradled tenderly in his fingers. The way the sunlight danced around the room when it hit the clear material. And suddenly, his body feels warm and fluttery. It is as though electricity runs within his veins; warping and changing the memory that he sought out. He hardly hears the <em> clink </em>of the glass as Hongjoong sets the horse back onto the table. </p><p>      “Open your eyes.” </p><p>      When he does, he is met with the image of the horse in a single piece again. Small rainbows twinkle along the bookcases. The blue haired boy grins at him with brilliance to rival the sun and all her stars. Yeosang feels his lips pop into a small ‘o’. </p><p>      “Where did the shards go?” He says, glancing between the figurine and the floor. It is spotless once again. “Did you do that? Did you swap it out with–”</p><p>      “You did that,” A voice comes from the doorway. Hongjoong hums in resposne. Whirling around, Yeosang meets Eden’s steady gaze. He has since pulled his blonde hair into a messy bun and is moving through the room like a wisp. “Thank you for your help, Hongjoong. I knew there was more to this one than untapped knowledge.” Eden says, settling into the chair behind the desk. “Seonghwa should still be with the other trainee. If you don’t mind, how about fetching them for me?”</p><p>      Hongjoong smiles and bows subtly. Within a breath, Yeosang is alone in the room with the professor. Rather, the headmaster, as Hongjoong had informed him. Eden cocks his head and motions to the small glass statue again. </p><p>      “I don’t suppose you can make it run yet?” </p><p>      “I don’t think I want to,” Yeosang snarks. “Cut the shit.” Maybe not the best way to speak to the top dog of a magical university, but respect be damned. The sharp pain in his arm is enough to make him bitey. “Hongjoong said that he was supposed to erase my memory of this entire experience. So, what do I owe the honor of meeting you face to face?” </p><p>      Eden chuckles and holds a hand out. A peace-offering, so it seems. Instead of shaking it, though, Yeosang bats it away like a gnat. The corner of the older’s lip twitches. “I don’t remember mistreating you.” And he’s right, in a way. Nothing Eden had done was directly related to the other events of the day. Yet, that did not mean the younger blonde was willing to play nice. </p><p>      “You pulled me into an exam that I had no preparation for. You embarrassed me in front of a dozen other students. And then, you separated me from my best friend.” The words fall over the room and echo in the hushed silence. “Sure, none of that is mistreatment. However, you’ve done little else to make things enjoyable.”</p><p>      “You’re right,” Eden says softly. “Your courage is entertaining, Kang Yeosang. Come to my school. Study with people like you.” The suggestion catches him off guard. Hongjoong had said that he was denied entry and yet…</p><p>      “What if I say no?”</p><p>      Eden’s eyebrow shoots into his hairline. “You have every right to say no,” he mumbles, surprise coloring his features. “However, don’t you want to belong? There’s a world out there that you are part of. Why run from it and lose everything?” </p><p>      Yeosang feels that dull thump in his chest. The electricity beneath his skin; like a thousand bees swarming and pleading for an exit. “Who are you to pretend that you know my everything?” The glass figurine twitches on the wooden surface. “You are no one to me, Kim Yonghwan. Now, where the hell is Woo–”</p><p>      “Yeosang!” The high-pitched voice cuts through the air easily. Wooyoung, dark hair whipping around him like a tempest, bursts into the room with all of the energy of a burning flame. Yeosang nearly tumbles out of his seat in an attempt to cling to the other. </p><p>      “Wooyoung,” he cries, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. “Let’s go. I’m sick of these people and–”</p><p>      “You’re not coming with us?” Wooyoung interrupts, shock evident on his features. It’s with a crashing heart and a smothering blow that Yeosang realizes the truth. He hears the way the glass horse runs over the edge of the desk and shatters on the cherry wood floor, but does not turn around to watch it do so. “They said–”</p><p>      Yeosang closes his eyes. Behind his lids, he sees a flash of the kitchen table. The treasure map sketched a million times over. Wooyoung’s smile. “I am,” he whispers. “I’ll follow you to the end of the Earth. We promised.”</p><p>      “Until we find the key,” Wooyoung murmurs, pressing his face into the crook of Yeosang’s neck. The blonde does not need to feel the glass shards on the ground to know that they would slice his fingers cleanly. He knows that pain enough from the way he had constantly pieced his heart back together over and over. Wooyoung did not know that Yeosang had already found the thing that mattered most to him. Still, the older whispered his reassurances into the brunette’s dark waves.</p><p>      “Until we find our treasure.”</p><p>
  <em>  🜃 ✦ 🜂 </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Find me on Twitter and cc: @KyojinOuji</p><p>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>- Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. flowers of antimony</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW// None unless you count an excessive number of sex jokes. ✧</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>“Well, Your lover on a leash, every other week, when you please.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Oh, I can't be the kiss that you don't need.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>The lie between your teeth.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>The cut that always bleeds.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Say you love somebody new and beat my heart to black and blue.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Then, they leave, and it's me you come back to say you loved me all along </span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>and kissed the bruises 'til they're gone.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Bittersweet, 'cause I can't breathe inside your arms.”</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <b>
        <em>The Cut that Always Bleeds</em>
      </b>
      <em>
        <span> - Conan Gray</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <hr/>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>
    <span>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What about the apartment?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The question comes quietly as Yeosang pulls the heavy door closed behind them. Their bags are stacked neatly in a pile against the wall, aside from the ones that Hongjoong is carefully tossing into the shared laundry room’s entryway. Each one flickers briefly before disappearing into thin air. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Magic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They had magic to thank for the easiest move of their lives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’ll still be here when we get back,” Yeosang tells Wooyoung gently. It had been their home throughout all of their undergrad years; a place they took right after high school ended. Now, he could feel the empty hole in his heart that grew with every breath. The lock clicking into place just made everything final– real. “Or until we get kicked out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong laughs at the remark. Getting kicked out of Utopia was not unheard of. Really, the older students had explained to them that it was highly likely for anyone that didn’t try. Luckily for the two newcomers, determination was the bullet wedged between their ribs. It was what pushed them forward and would ultimately be their downfall– or so Yeosang assumed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Do you have everything?” Seonghwa calls from just beyond the portal. To anyone else, it would seem that the three men were speaking to an invisible being. The thought of their elderly neighbors coming into the corridor makes Yeosang bite back a chuckle. There would be no doubt that the women would be beyond confused. Maybe, they would even go as far as to call the police for the fourth time that month. While the first experience was deserving of the call– a noise complaint filed against Wooyoung and him for testing out the durability of the balcony railing– the others had just been petty follow-ups. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang rakes his gaze over the baggage that still lingers. With a sigh, he picks up the nearest duffle and slings it over his shoulder haphazardly. “Do you need to go back in for anything, Woo?” Yeosang asks. When he is met with silence, he turns his focus onto the younger. His distant stare is trained somewhere just beyond Hongjoong’s shoulder. Nothing is there, of course, but the weirdness lingers even as Wooyoung’s eyes lock onto his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What did you say?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I asked if you were alright,” Yeosang mutters, a palm caressing the sharp ridge of Wooyoung’s jaw. The brunette leans into his touch and lets out a soft breath. The warm puff of air hits Yeosang’s cheek. It’s so human. So mundane. And yet, when the older glances up, he catches Hongjoong’s curious expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Have everything?” The man repeats his boyfriend’s question with a knowing smirk. “Unless you two would rather keep flirting in the middle of this hallway. Utopia is waiting.” With a bark of laughter, he leaps through the portal, leaving Yeosang with an open mouth and his hand still cradling the younger’s chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung rolls his eyes as the blonde squishes his cheeks. “H’ve ev’rythin’,” he mumbles. His dark eyes are still filled with the sappy emotions Yeosang knew he wanted to unleash. This had been their home for so long, and now, they had to leave it behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It was the safest thing for everyone in their lives. Disconnecting from their old selves; leaving the mortal world for that of fantasy. Eden had warned them briefly that the realm they were entering was not a comfortable one. Things weren’t simply handed to you and power wasn’t to be toyed with. They were to stay on the garden path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We’ll be home eventually. They said there are breaks,” Yeosang says quietly. Wooyoung’s fingers find his own like tiny moths to light. They brush against his skin faintly; wings fluttering in panic. “You can always say no. I’ll be with you no matter what.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung frowns and lifts the back of Yeosang’s hand to his lips. There, he presses a featherlight kiss to the soft flesh. “Magic,” he whispers, “is everywhere. But, if they’re saying that we can learn more, why wouldn’t we? Plus, I want to know if my husband got in.” And with that, the younger pulls him back through the portal easily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Entering Utopia’s campus for the first time is like emerging from beneath the tense surface of a hidden lake. It’s an ear-popping and heart-pounding experience and, quite frankly, there are a million other things Yeosang would like to do a second time. As they tumble through the portal, he can smell the grass just before his body slams into it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Graceful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. In the distance, Hongjoong and Wooyoung both double over in laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re like a baby deer,” the blue-haired chokes out, “it’s cute.” Seonghwa, eyes wide, drops the bag that he had been carrying to fly to Yeosang’s side. Like a mother hen, he tuts over the younger. His blonde hair falls into his face, disrupting the professional atmosphere he once held. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you hurt?” He asks, pulling Yeosang into his arms. His fingers poke and prod at the other blonde’s skin. The frown that paints his lips grows when he notices the grass stains that litter Yeosang’s sweater from the impact. His nimble hands tug on the wool as he thumbs the vibrant green marks. “We have laundry rooms in every dorm, so I’ll take you there when we drop your things off,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Finally past his laughing fit, Wooyoung wanders to the two men and holds out both of his hands. “I don’t think the ground looks comfortable,” he sings, “Come on, I want to see our room.” Yeosang glances at his best friend’s palm with a sigh. Wrapping both of his own around it, he waits for Seonghwa to do the same. When he does, Wooyoung gives a heavy tug and yanks them both to their feet. “I didn’t think that would work,” he admits quickly before skittering out of the way of Yeosang’s ill-timed slap. Again, Hongjoong laughs. At least someone found their constant bickering humorous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As the four trudge up the brick pathway of the university’s entrance, Yeosang is drawn into the atmosphere. The space is surrounded by a barrier of intense trees; enough that it may even be considered a forest. Students mill around the college green. Some sit in the grass, smiling and picnicking, while others seem to be in deep sports matches. And when they move further into the campus, the blonde’s breath is pulled from his lungs in a single swoop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are they…” he starts, unsure of how to describe whatever the first group his eyes land on are actually doing. It could be as easy as saying that they are skateboarding. However, that word alone doesn’t even begin to encompass the true experience. Five students drift just above the treetops, their boards hardly brushing the vibrant green leaves. Every so often, one of them kicks off of the air and flips the skateboard onto its side. Before it has a chance to plummet to the ground like a stray comet, the rider slams it into the invisible force they had been grazing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A dragon flip.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You guys have skateboards here?” Yeosang utters, whirling on Hongjoong. The older man sputters as the blonde nearly vibrates out of his skin. “They’re skateboarding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Technically,” Hongjoong whispers, his eyes flitting between the students and the over-enthusiastic boy before him, “they’re flying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeah, well I can see that,” Yeosang says. He doesn’t mean for his eyes to narrow, but he senses the way they do. “But they’re on skateboards. Which means magicians skate.” He probably sounds feral. He cannot help the pounding of his heart, however, nor can he stop himself from nearly bouncing over to the group. If it wasn’t for the sheer number of bags they were carrying, or his crippling fear of actually interacting with strangers, he would march up and beg for an explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In front of them, Seonghwa snorts loudly. It’s an unexpected sound, but it does nothing to stop Wooyoung from bursting into an obnoxious guffaw. The blood rushes to Yeosang’s cheeks, covering his face and neck in the warm pink glow of embarrassment. Mentally, he screams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I take it you were a skater-boy back home, Yeosang?” Seonghwa asks, not turning around. Yeosang does not have to see the magician’s face to know that he is grinning. He had been. However, he was still gauging how much information to feed the other two men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung, though, did not have the same reservations. “Oh god, yeah,” he says, “Yeo hardly came home when the weather was nice out. He was either flying his dorky little drone–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You bought me that ‘dorky little drone’, asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So that you could send me spoons from the kitchen! It was easier than walking all the way out there and letting my ice cream melt,” Wooyoung barks back. Hongjoong covers his mouth as he fights the urge to laugh in the boys’ faces. “And anyways, Yeosang has always been into skateboarding. He was practically a heartthrob for all the girls looking for an emo boyfriend.” Wooyoung winks in his direction. “If only he ever said yes to any of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang catches the look Hongjoong shoots him from the corner of his eye. Rather than asking about it, he quirks a brow. It’s the same kind of stare that his mother used to give him when Wooyoung threw an arm around his shoulders or pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. And it is entirely the kind of topic he does not feel like explaining to someone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong shrugs and continues forward. Evidently, Seonghwa and Wooyoung did not notice the silent exchange. The brunette is saying something about a nearby group of girls who levitate nearly a dozen rose petals while their friend tries to snap the perfect photograph. It would be beautiful if the outright oddness of the situation didn’t peg Yeosang right in the chest. Magic was real, but God, he was beginning to wish it wasn’t.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The conversation moves into more discussion about the dorms and the general rules. By the time they’re almost to the building that the boys will be staying in, Seonghwa is pointing out various cliques that appear to be more densely packed in the center of the campus. As they pass through a set of large, stone pillars, Yeosang spots a layout map. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The school grounds are shaped into a large circle. The forest surrounds the outside, but the closer you get to the middle, more structures appear. The oddest thing to note, however, is the way six particular locations glow faintly in varying hues. His feet cement to the space just in front of the guide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeosang?” Hongjoong asks. “What are you looking at?” When his attention falls onto the bulletin, he cocks his head. “Each discipline has their own space. It’s kind of the school’s way of giving us somewhere to practice our magic with people similar to us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Discipline?” Yeosang asks, moving closer to the board. “What do you mean by that?” Heavy footfalls travel back in their direction. Wooyoung steps to his side like a magnet. In a similar manner, Seonghwa leans against his boyfriend. Setting down one of the bags he insisted on carrying, he carefully wraps his arm around Hongjoong’s waist. The smaller makes a soft noise in the back of his throat before answering the question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Every magician has their own specialty. We don’t use wands or say stupid shit like ‘bippidy-boppity-boo’, but we do have a language to our work. Those tend to come naturally to us and in time you can learn bits of the others.” He pauses and glances in Seonghwa’s direction. “Some people are a little more well-rounded. Seonghwa is part of the Healing Discipline. They’re employed in the infirmary and given rooms on the upper floors. However, he’s also particularly talented in the Physical aspect of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Pyromancy, really,” the older blonde grins. “It was my first tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Tell?” Wooyoung asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The thing that pinged the leylines,” he responds. “Eden has a globe for every wonder of the world, and trust me, there are more than seven. And then he has a separate one that detects every magical interference cast by unidentified magicians. It pinpoints the exact location of the energy spike so that he can start searching.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa fiddles with the thread of Hongjoong’s shirt. His nimble fingers pick and tug at the stray piece of string as though it is the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. Something blossoms in the pit of Yeosang’s stomach at the sight. Seonghwa, the man who could intimidate any threat, was shy and most definitely did not like to talk about himself in situations like this. It brings a gentle smile to his lips. They would get along just fine. Although, his next words make the two newcomers gasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I set a school on fire.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Groaning, Hongjoong bats at his partner’s shoulder. “Don’t scare them! They’re babies,” he whispers, hardly soft enough to go unheard. He turns to the others with an eye roll. “He didn’t set the entire school on fire. Just like…” He glances to the side, obviously thinking about how far to carry the details of the story. “Half of it.” He settles on the truth. At that moment, it is Seonghwa’s turn to cuff his boyfriend on the back of the head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With a laugh, Wooyoung throws an arm over Yeosang’s shoulder. “Well, it seems like I’ll fit in just fine, then.” He does not push the tale and neither do the other boys, aside from a shared look of horror. While it is not Yeosang’s responsibility to oversee the way Wooyoung copes with his own past, he certainly cannot find it within himself to believe this is a good thing. Wooyoung, a man woven from sunlight and ocean tides, had been responsible for three deaths in his short lifetime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What are the other disciplines?” Yeosang says, struggling to change the topic. Frankly, all he wants to do is go to their new room and sleep the day away. However, if they were going to be seeing the campus, he was going to find everything he could. Anything was better than being caught off guard entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong smiles, looking absolutely thankful for the interruption, and moves to stand in front of the map. “Here’s the nitty-gritty,” he says, finger landing on a pale-blue square. “Like I said before, Healers are in the infirmary for most of their time here in Utopia. I’m certain you know what they do.” Yeosang snorts at the bored tone that fills the older’s voice. Hongjoong points to a yellow section in the upper corner of the map, nearest to the forest. “Illusionists are responsible for maintaining the glamor spell that is cast over the university. They’re the entire reason that we’re hidden from the world. Mortals just see the Hocking Hills State Park.” He smirks when Yeosang chokes at the reveal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Where in the hell is Hocking Hills?” Maybe, it would have been smart to ask more about the school’s location before actually agreeing to attend. Portals worked well to travel the far distances, apparently, but it had never crossed his mind that they would be leaving New York. For all he knew, they could have been in an entirely separate country. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kidnapped by magicians,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks bitterly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ohio,” Seonghwa says, dreary tone spilling into the state’s name. “We’re in the southern part of Ohio, but no one can tell because it’s really just 2,000 acres of trees and rocks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sounds like Ohio,” Wooyoung mumbles, chewing the skin around his thumb. “Is Ohio even real? Who chooses to live here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s probably not a choice,” Hongjoong shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter to us, though. We can go anywhere we want to with just a little bit of work. The Illusionists make the campus look like Ibiza during spring break, but if you really wanted to, you could just go there on your own.” He draws their focus back to the bulletin. Next is a light green diamond. “Students in the Natural Discipline are in tune with the Earth and God knows what else. It’s almost impossible to have a conversation with any of them because they’re either stoned to hell and back or they’re busy communicating with the flora and fauna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Joong–” Seonghwa starts to say before the other cuts him off with a shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Name one Naturalist that hasn’t either tried to pull you into a vine-based orgy at their treehouse.” Wooyoung bursts into a hyena’s guffaw while Seonghwa’s face lights up to match the color of a summer sunset. “Baby, I know they’ve asked you. Who wouldn’t ask you?” Yeosang feels his own face begin to heat. If the older blonde wasn’t so obviously head-over-heels for Hongjoong, maybe Yeosang would have tried his luck. As the thought comes to him, Wooyoung’s fingers find their way into the long, soft hair at the nape of Yeosang’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Against the older’s ear, he whispers, “Sounds like your kind of party, you know.” His warm breath tickles the sensitive flesh. Suddenly, it is everything Yeosang can do not to whimper at the thought. In public. With two strangers. It’s when Wooyoung nips at his cartilage that the blonde puts an immediate stop to things. Palm flat against the other’s chest, he gives a slight push. Wooyoung, eyes still burning with something sultry, whines as he shifts back onto his heels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Face still warm, Yeosang drags his focus to the men beside them. Hongjoong, again, has the same expression as earlier. His eyes are filled with gentle, yet questioning, warmth. Seonghwa, on the other hand, just seems to be absolutely embarrassed for them. Yeosang, heart hammering in his chest, points at the white star near the center of the circle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “This one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong chuckles under his breath but continues his explanation. “Knowledge,” he says, “one of the strongest disciplines here. Eden is a Master of Knowledge, but all magicians that pass through under him are known as Apprentices of the Craft. They specialize in a mixed style of magic involving our last two disciplines.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang watches as he points out the purple box just to the left of the infirmary. “This is the Consciousness Building; home to the Psychic Discipline. Psychics are the kind of magician you never want to piss off. They’re horribly temperamental and will find every crack in your mind. Most of the time, they’re laid back and will leave you alone if you agree not to touch their shit and keep your thoughts locked off. But, when you shut down those barriers, you’re basically setting yourself up to give them an instant migraine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Wooyoung gasps. “Do they read minds?” When Hongjoong nods, the younger squeaks loudly. “Well, that’s going to be an absolute nightmare. Thank you for that information.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Just don’t get in their space,” Seonghwa suggests with a tired smile. Obviously, the proximity between the Consciousness Building and the infirmary is one he does not approve of. “It’s meant to be a quiet location for them to just breathe. There’s an amplifier there that gives Psychics enough of a boost to control their abilities.” Yeosang can’t even imagine the pain that comes with hearing the thoughts of others nor does he wish to picture what the members have experienced. The conscious mind was one thing, but the unconscious was another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And finally,” Hongjoong’s face splinters into a wide grin. “The Physical kids. We’re rare, talented, and absolutely wonderful at mixing drinks. Physical magic runs the gambit between telekinesis, flight, pyromancy– things like that. If it’s made of matter and energy, we can alter it.” He taps the smooth surface of the map, finger tracing the orange square that is just on the outskirts of the main cluster. “We even get a cottage all to ourselves where we have hundreds of parties. It never stays in one place, though, and every year we move it. Just to keep things interesting.” He adds a wink to the end of the statement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung practically vibrates out of his skin. “We’re invited, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Of course,” Hongjoong laughs, slinging an arm around the brunette’s shoulders. “Consider us your magic dads. While you’re in Utopia, we’re not leaving your side.” He looks to Yeosang. “You both just seem like good people; our kind of people.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa mutters something about the time and ushers them back to the pile of baggage. Any other touching topics would have to wait until another day. However, having the two older magicians by their side did well to melt the ice that had begun to frost over his nerves. It was when they came to a stop in front of a tall, red brick building that the anxiety began to make itself known again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The outside of the dorm was covered with creeping ivy. Its twirling limbs climbed along the stone exterior, mimicking a small forest. Surrounding the structure were three vibrant wisteria trees. Their blossoms hung over the entryway like falling stars or rain frozen in floral suspension. With a sigh, Seonghwa pushes one out of his face as they push against the wooden entrance. The door had been painted green and embellished with nearly thirty intricate gold flowers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Dogwood,” Hongjoong says as they move through the threshold. The first few steps creak painfully beneath their feet. “They symbolize rebirth. Eden has always had a thing for second chances.” For a moment, Yeosang regrets the way he spoke to the headmaster. It passes without consequence, however, when he recalls the way the man went about inviting him to the university in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Around them, the walls are painted a bright scarlet. The tile pattern is decorated with a variety of constellations, yet at the same time, mimics a dark marbled-granite stone. Before Yeosang can overanalyze the aesthetic principles at fault, a loud crash sounds from the center of the room. There, a spiral staircase towers. Its iron wrought design, again, makes his eyes narrow. Why pick such a conglomeration of sultry colors? It was an attack on the mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      At the base of the staircase, a man with strawberry blonde hair is sprawled. Hongjoong, spotting the boy, drops nearly everything he is carrying and sprints over to his side. From a distance, laughter echoes in nearly a dozen different directions. Six hallways extend from the first floor and it is easy to assume that the next level up mimics the same design. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you alright?” Hongjoong asks, sliding to a halt beside the still figure. The sound of heavy footsteps rings out down the metal stairs as a tall student with pink hair practically tumbles down them. The man on the ground immediately breaks into loud guffaws that bounce off of the walls like electricity. His smile, toothy and bright, could light up the whole universe if he wanted it to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m fine,” he says, rolling his body until he is sitting upright. From halfway up the landing, the other boy sighs. “We got a little too into hide and seek.” The grin that comes with the statement seems to be a permanent feature on the blonde’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You got a little too into it,” the tall one says, pulling the other to his feet. From beside them, Hongjoong’s shoulders visibly sag. For a moment, Yeosang can’t help but wonder if the blue-haired magician is going to lecture the two. Instead, he brushes off his pants and sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Just be careful. This isn’t like Hogwarts and that staircase is never going to move, but that doesn’t mean you always see it coming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      At the mention of the fictional school, the pink-haired’s eyes light up. His face immediately is filled with a look of excitement as he bounces on his heels. “I love Harry Potter,” he says and thrusts out a hand. “I’m Jeong Yunho. This is Song Mingi.” He gestures to the other boy, who Yeosang notices is just as tall as the former. Great, magicians weren’t only pretty as hell, they were also basically trees. His eyes land on Hongjoong, however, and he forces himself to stifle a laugh. Most of them, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “First-years? I haven’t seen you in our year,” Hongjoong says, shaking Yunho’s hand. Yunho nods happily and pushes Mingi to do the same. “Oh, good! Yeosang and Wooyoung are too.” As he speaks, he gestures at the other two who wave awkwardly. It had completely slipped Yeosang’s mind that they would have to meet the other students eventually. Being friendly was something he could do; in time. Right off the bat, however, made his heart race. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung, on the other hand, takes it all in stride. With a wide smile, he struts up to Yunho and Mingi. In a second, he pulls them into a bearhug. Leave it to his best friend to be such a people pleaser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Where are your rooms?” Seonghwa asks, gathering the bags that Hongjoong dropped. He looks like an office intern with the amount of stuff he has picked up along the way. Yeosang, staring at the duffle and roller that Wooyoung tossed to the side, only groans internally and kicks at them with his foot. The brunette glances in his direction with a smirk. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Asshole</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yunho cocks his head as if trying to remember where they just came from. Maybe, he was. “Room 411,” he says, fully descending the staircase to take some of the luggage from Seonghwa. “You could just levitate this stuff, you know.” It is said with a wink that could steal anyone’s heart in a second. Thankfully, Yeosang was not glancing at him when it happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Mingi gasps suddenly, his mouth popping into a pretty, pink ‘o’. “Wait, are you Jung Wooyoung and Kang Yeosang?” With a quirked brow, Yeosang nods slowly. If word had somehow already gotten out that he insulted Eden, he would have to rightfully take the chance to pass away. “You’re our neighbors,” Mingi bursts, throwing his arms around Wooyoung’s shoulders. “Where’s your other roommate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Our what?” Yeosang asks. He did a piss-poor job of hiding the sudden toxicity that leached into his words, but the shock was enough to consider it warranted. “I thought it was just us,” he says to Seonghwa. The blonde only stares back at him with a blank and equally confused expression. Evidently, the older magicians were unaware of this new development. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Choi San,” Mingi says. “I don’t think he’s been by your room yet either, so we haven’t met him, but there are definitely three names on your door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It feels like all of the frost in the world has made its home within Yeosang’s veins. Another person. Someone else to shove into his life. Not only that, but the aspect of such close quarters made his stomach churn painfully. Hongjoong had not mentioned how long it would take them to discover their disciplines, therefore, he had no idea how long his privacy was going to be walked over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh,” Wooyoung says softly. Something about the tone is laced with an underlying emotion that Yeosang can’t decipher. It’s a moment that makes him wish the younger was glued to his hip so he could slip his hand into Wooyoung’s easily. Hongjoong seems to sense the sudden change in the air. Clapping suddenly, he marches himself up the stairs like a pirate king. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Let’s go, then,” he calls, leading the way. “If you guys are stuck with a stranger for the next month or so, you might as well meet him quickly and get it over with.” He’s right. But, while Yeosang acknowledges the statement, he can’t bring himself to actually agree. It was enough that he had even followed Wooyoung to this school. Adding more people into the equation just complicated things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And when the door to Room 413 opens, Yeosang realizes that things were already as convoluted as they could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Sitting on the middle of the three, college-issued mattresses, leg crossed over the other with a book in hand, is the same black-haired boy they had run into at the exam. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wooyoung’s husband. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And by the looks of things, the brunette wants nothing more than to tear in the other direction. If not for the party they somehow collected blocking the doorway, he probably would have been off campus within a breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh,” San says, setting the novel on the bed. “I’m assuming two of you are Yeosang and Wooyoung?” His voice is deeper than expected. It’s soft but still radiates powerful energy. He pushes off of the mattress and walks over to them gracefully. By all means, Yeosang can see exactly why Wooyoung picked this one out of a crowd. He holds out a hand with a smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dimples</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I’m San.” As he says it, his eyes are trained specifically on his one-night stand. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      He remembers, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yeosang mind supplies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He remembers and now they’re going to sexile you over and over. Everything is about to change. Don’t get comfortable. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He can’t fight the way the thoughts push into his brain like rats gnawing on cable wires. From the corner of his eye, he watches Wooyoung grab San’s hand tightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m Wooyoung,” he says softly and gestures at Yeosang. “This is my best friend, Yeosang.” San turns to the blonde with an equally as radiant grin. He’s genuinely perfect. His features are delicate, yet still sharp in all the right places. His skin showcases various beauty marks and freckles like the night sky. Yet, his connection to Wooyoung makes Yeosang’s skin crawl as their palms touch for the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Nice to meet you,” he whispers, but his heart doesn’t utter the words. He is flying by the sheer hope that things won’t be awkward. That their new friends won’t all disperse the moment they set their bags past the threshold. Yeosang tosses a knowing look in the brunette’s direction, but Wooyoung’s focus is too trained on the figure before them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His worst fears come to life spectacularly fast. After the group exchanges numbers, their neighbors excuse themselves to go unpack their room, which at a glance, looks like a tsunami took it under its clutches. Seonghwa mumbles something about needing to stop by the infirmary, thus excusing both himself and Hongjoong. However, on their way out, Hongjoong grabs Yeosang’s arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Text me if you need anything, okay?” The younger does not ask why the statement is being directed at him specifically. At a glance, it is obvious that Hongjoong knows how to read people. The blue-haired offers him an oddly sympathetic smile. “The Physical Kids are probably going to have a party tomorrow night at the cottage. I’ll hit you up with the details tomorrow.” It is not a question of whether or not Yeosang is interested. Instead, it is an invitation to get out of the room; away from the possible couple. Kim Hongjoong, Yeosang realizes, is terrifyingly observant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The final three stand in the triple-occupancy room silently for what feels like hours. Then, with a sigh, Wooyoung throws himself on the bed closest to the corner. Evidently, he was staking his claim. Which left Yeosang the mattress on the other side of the room, nearest to the window. San had taken the center one, most likely not expecting two people that already knew each other to be his roommates, but doesn’t even appear phased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So,” Wooyoung says into the air, “Are we going to talk about things or just pretend that we’re not legally bound to each other?” The question hits the room like a truck. Immediately, San is coughing into his palm. “I’m just wondering, because if we’re living together, I should probably know if I’m supposed to call you my husband or just that random guy who fucked me and chucked me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Woo,” Yeosang starts softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He watches the way San’s face heats with pure crimson and almost feels bad for him. However, he did leave Wooyoung the morning after. “Be nice,” he murmurs, deciding that was the safest option out of the onslaught of things he could say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung makes a deep noise in the back of his throat and rolls onto his side dramatically. He’s pouting, and has a right to do so, but not at the expense of their living situation. Preferably, Yeosang would like to go to bed tonight without the threat of their roommate murdering them both in their sleep. San, on the other hand, looks almost like he wants to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m sorry,” he whispers. It’s hardly above a breath and definitely not the first thing Yeosang expected him to say. “It was wrong of me to do, and trust me I definitely didn’t want to, but I didn’t have a choice.” Not having a choice implies already having a spouse. It implies an accident; a mistake. And before Yeosang can open his mouth to let the man have it, Wooyoung is already pushing forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What do you mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San looks to him with a sheepish frown. A hand presses to the back of his neck as though he is trying to anchor himself to the present. “How much do you guys know about the Psychic Discipline?” His voice is quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That we’re not supposed to piss Psychics off,” Yeosang offers with a shrug. San chuckles, somehow propelling the hummingbirds in Yeosang’s chest to take flight. “We weren’t born into a world of magic. Honestly, Hongjoong and Seonghwa tried to give us the run-down on the way here, but there’s only so much you can do in such a short amount of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San nods. “Definitely not enough to have heard about all the things we can do then.” The implication shines clear even before San reiterates. Choi San is a Psychic. “My family is pretty well known in magician society. We found a way to hone-in particular aspects of dream manipulation, meld it with astral projection, and recreate the scenes that the viewer walked through.” The concept is far beyond anything Yeosang has ever heard of, but San says it as though it's the most casual conversation point he could ever bring up. “Unfortunately, my ability is a step above that. I’m particularly skilled in teleportation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So, you teleported right out of bed?” Wooyoung asks, finally rolling back over to face them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Actually, I was taking a shower and then suddenly was standing on the beach, butt-naked.” San buries his head in his hands as he talks. “By the time I got back to the hotel room, you were gone. How did you not notice my clothes everywhere when you got up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I–” Wooyoung cuts himself off and furrows his brows. “I don’t actually know. I think I was more pissed off about the bed being cold.” He sits up carefully and pulls his legs onto the bed so that he can cross them. “I went back to my apartment and sucked Yeosang’s dick instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Dude!” Yeosang screeches, throwing the third installment of The Treasure Key at Wooyoung’s cackling form. He had two copies anyway, so it didn’t really matter if one was tattered for the good of the order. “Don’t just air shit out like that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m just saying,” Wooyoung yells, plucking the book off of the mattress. He flips through the pages before chucking it back towards the blonde. “If he’s living with us, he deserves to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh shit,” San whispers, glancing between the two. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, I’m so–” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We’re not,” Yeosang says quickly. The words cut through the air like bitter poison. “He’s single unless you count yourself.” He busies himself by unpacking the rest of his books and stacking them on the desk closest to his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung frowns. “What Yeosang means,” he says, “is that we’ve been best friends long enough that we’re completely comfortable with helping each other out when we need to.” Something buries itself beneath Wooyoung’s words like a parasite. It sucks Yeosang’s heart dry, taking and never offering once to give, and he can feel the effects with every beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stands up from his seat and walks over to where Yeosang is arranging everything. Carefully, he lifts the first book, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pirate King</span>
  </em>
  <span>, from the pile with a soft smile. His long fingers thumb through the pages tenderly, and at that moment, the hummingbirds decide to burst from Yeosang’s chest in a cloud of a million different colors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Did you read them?” Wooyoung asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “They were my favorite,” San says with a smile. A garden blooms there on the pages of those books. It winds, weaves, and threatens to suffocate Yeosang under its elegance. “You guys read them too?” His eyes crinkle like small crescents. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is this what it feels like to dance beneath the moonlight? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      Like a mirror shattering against the marble floor, Yeosang sucks in a sharp breath. Choi San was dangerous and incredibly off-limits. Reaching out, he snaps the novel out of the other’s hands. Their fingers brush ever so slightly, and for a moment, every nerve in Yeosang’s body buzzes. San recoils from his touch with a yelp, eyes wide, and takes a quick step back. And then another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you okay?” Wooyoung shouts, jumping to his feet. “What happened?” When Yeosang glances up, his best friend stares only at San. Of course. Why would he look to the blonde when he was not the one to yell? When he was the one to cause whatever the hell just happened? He focuses on the book in his hands, fighting the way his throat makes it hard to breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeah,” San whispers, studying his fingers carefully. “Rogue magic, I think. It’s basically just static.” He picks his way back to his bed. “You must be strong, Yeosang.” The comment catches the older off guard. With wide eyes, he meets San’s gaze. “Make sure you help me cheat on exams,” the black-haired says softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Choi San was a riptide and Yeosang could already feel the waves pulling his ship in.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> 🜃 ✦ 🜂</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, starlights! Thanks for reading. The next chapter is going to start getting into the magic, smut, and plot so be warned.</p><p>Follow me on Twitter ( @KyojinOuji ) for inside looks at chapters, memes, and just my daily gremlin activities.<br/>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>- Cheers! </p><p> </p><p>Also, I'm from Ohio so the hate is deserved. ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. aether</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW// Implied Smut, nothing explicit yet ✧</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>“I knew you always be there;</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>All the nights, I just–</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Drink your lights, and plus,</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>I see you perfectly dressed.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>So, I’m coming to you with no guest.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>All the nights, I just–</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>You're the start and the end of my own desire.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>You’re the place I’ll find.”</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <b>
        <em>TREASURE ISLAND</em>
      </b>
      <em>
        <span> - millic, HAN</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <hr/>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>
    <em>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </em>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Adjusting to the living situation came easily. Given only a week before they were tossed into classes, Yeosang spent the majority of the next afternoon picking through every beginner-level magic manual he could find in the campus library. The courses were to start earlier here than regular universities. Every student had fed their parents the same lie upon acceptance. In their eyes, their children had been accepted into an early-start master’s program halfway across the country. Whether they believed it or not was up to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It was after the study carousel began to taunt his every move with that he decided to travel back to the shared room for a quick shower. But when he got there, only San was sitting on the edge of his mattress with a distant expression. Since their awkward moment the night before, the two had danced around each other in some broken waltz. He couldn’t help it. San radiated the same energy that made him want to tear in the other direction. It was sickly sweet and full of all the caring nuances that a good person could have. Choi San is an angel, and because of that, Yeosang could not be in the same space as him for long. However, today, San does not acknowledge that awkward air between them. Instead, his gaze lands on the blonde. Within seconds, a dimpled smile is spilling across his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Welcome back,” he says cheerfully. It’s as though imaginary flowers bloom whenever the man speaks. A dozen rose petals should tumble from their ceiling panels next. “Did you forget something?” He shifts his position so that he is facing Yeosang’s side of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No,” Yeosang mumbles, pulling every book out of his worn-leather satchel and flopping them onto his desk. “I just needed a shower.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh. Stinky, I see?” San quips. His voice tilts up playfully at the end of the question, yet Yeosang still feels the burning flush paint down his chest. “I’m kidding, you know. I can’t really smell you from over here.” Rather than responding, Yeosang offers the man a humorless chuckle. It’s as he tries to pass by the black-haired to enter their en suite bathroom that his sleeve is snatched up in a vice-like grip. Glancing down, he sees the way San’s fingers wrap around the material as though it is the only thing tethering him to Earth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you alright?” Yeosang asks. Suddenly, San tugs on the fabric harshly. The change catches Yeosang off guard and sends him tumbling straight into the other man’s lap. He scrambles to sit up, but not before San sprawls onto the bed and pulls Yeosang on top of him. “What are you doing?” He stutters, wiggling in San’s hold. The brunette throws his arms around Yeosang’s neck with a cat-like grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Does it bother you?” San asks, lifting the older’s wrist to his nose. Dramatically, he acts as though he is taking a whiff of the boy’s skin. “You don’t smell that bad.” In any other sense, Yeosang would have screamed and wrestled against the other’s grasp. However, something about San pulled him in. When the blonde does not speak, San frowns. His sharp eyes narrow as his next question hits the air like a metal bell. “Why do you hate me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What?” Yeosang asks, finally pushing away from the other. Beneath him, San’s dark hair feathers out against the light blue sheets he had thrown onto the mattress. His eyes dance over the older’s face silently. The stare holds a weight that tears at Yeosang’s soul. “Why would I hate you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Because,” he whispers, sitting up slowly. As he does so, his palm manages to find the small of Yeosang’s back. Carefully, he steadies the other man as he shifts their position. “I came out of nowhere and wedged myself between you and Wooyoung.” San doesn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he focuses on the fraying threads on the hem of Yeosang’s sweater. “I don’t want to be a problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re married to my best friend,” the blonde says gently, placing a hand on San’s chest. “You have to admit, it’s a little awkward.” A sunset glow heats the brunette’s cheeks. It hasn’t escaped Yeosang’s notice that the younger man grew anxious every time anyone mentioned the bond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Supposedly,” San mutters, pressing his face into the crook of Yeosang’s neck. Despite their compromising position, it doesn’t come off as anything other than a comforting action. “I wasn’t supposed to be at the bar that night. I literally teleported in and saw him, so then I couldn’t leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang can’t help but bark out a laugh. “So, you married him? Doesn’t that seem like a little bit too much commitment for someone who wasn’t even planning to stay?” San groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeah, I am completely aware of that, thank you. It wasn’t a real wedding, you know.” When he lifts his head, his eyes are filled with the start of tears. “That chapel is known for duping people. They didn’t even give us a marriage certificate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He can’t help the way he suddenly pities the man under him. Yeosang’s fingers dig into the black strands of San’s hair as he tenderly massages the nape of his neck. “I’d hope not,” he says, “because I always expected to be the best man at his real one.” It’s like watching polaroids flash before his very eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung, covered in mud, asking Yeosang to be his partner-in-crime at age five. The two of them smashing pieces of cake into the other’s face at twelve. Their first kiss at fourteen, just to get it out of the way, and their thirtieth the same year. And every kiss after that. Them holding hands as they opened their undergraduate college acceptance letters. Those photos would continue far into the future, and while Yeosang would always be there to take them and imprint them in his mind, he would not always be the one in them. But the man whose lap he straddled might have that chance. And it’s with a bitter thought that he realizes, maybe Choi San is a good husband for his best friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Do you at least like him?” Yeosang asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I hardly know him,” San admits. “But, I think I could learn to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The blonde smiles and pushes San’s dark bangs away from his forehead. Carefully, he presses a delicate kiss to the soft flesh. When he pulls away, San stares back at him with stars in his eyes. The expression is like an arrow piercing his ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I think you both could.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Maybe the words would radiate more if the door to their room didn’t swing open at that exact moment. Whirling around, Yeosang meets the direct attention of Wooyoung. The younger blinks once, slowly, and then takes a step backward. His face shatters like glass. Suddenly, their door is slamming shut and the man is bolting down the corridor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Shit,” San says, scrambling to right himself. Yeosang slides off of his lap easily, taking in just how promiscuous their position actually looked to the outside eye. “Shit, he’s going to be pissed.” The brunette flies to the door before spinning back around to gesture wildly. “Are you coming?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You go,” Yeosang says, finding his legs. “I need a shower and you’re the one that needs to clear things up with him.” San doesn’t stick around to argue. When his roommate vanishes from the room like a computer glitch, Yeosang is struck with just how convenient San’s abilities actually were. Unfortunately, the blonde didn’t have anything similar. Sighing, he presses his fingers to his temples. Maybe, he would go to the Physical Kids’ party after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In retrospect, he should have expected the two to come back to the room sooner. Really, it went hand in hand with the whole teleportation thing. However, the moment San left to chase after Wooyoung, Yeosang took that as a chance for free-range of their bathroom. Similarly, if he had a do over, he would have brought his clothing into the space with him. Instead, the moment the water turned off, he heard the telltale squeak of bed springs and high-pitched whining that only Jung Wooyoung could make when having the time of his life. Glancing into the mirror, Yeosang can’t tell if the flush that dances across his cheeks is from the heat of the shower or the fact that he was now part of an unwilling exhibitionist setup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He knows he can only hide behind the closed door for so long. The two most certainly heard the shower grow quiet, but that didn’t help speed things up. Rather, it almost sounds as though they slowed down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking fantastic.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>      Wrapping a towel around his waist, he sighs heavily.</span>
  <em>
    <span> It’s now or never,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks and slams open the wooden door like a hurricane. Without stopping to grab even a shred of clothing, he bolts past his roommates and into the corridor of the dorm. As he beelines in the other direction, Wooyoung calls out something that sounds like an invitation. His best friend’s voice is muffled by the slam of their own door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It’s only when he finds himself standing there, completely naked save for the fluffy terry-cloth slung low on his hips, that he realizes he has no other game plan. Frantically, he glances up and down the hall. If anyone was to walk out right now, he might actually have to take Eden up on having his mind completely wiped. At least it would prevent this from coming back to haunt him at 2AM while he runs through the extensive list of every embarrassing thing he has ever done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It is then that a familiar flash of pink rounds the corner closest to him. Yunho, head down as he munches on a granola bar, doesn’t notice Yeosang in all of his bare glory until he practically runs him over. The gentle giant, upon bumping directly into the younger’s bare shoulder, makes a weird gasping noise as he inhales a chunk of the snack directly into the wrong pipe. Coughing, he pounds his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeosang,” he chokes out. “Why are you in the hallway?” His brown eyes fill with tears as he fights the pain that radiates through his throat. They wander over Yeosang’s figure slowly, as if seeing him for the first time, and grow wide. “Oh my god, scratch that. Why are you naked?” It’s then that a loud moan pierces the air. Yeosang raises an eyebrow as if to say, ‘that’, and Yunho’s ears flash red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “They’re kind of married, but we don’t know how legally binding it is,” the blonde says, pushing a hand through his wet hair. “Wooyoung caught me straddling San, but I’m assuming they made up while I was in the shower.” Yunho stares at him for a few moments. And then, the air is filled with gasping laughter. Somehow, it boosts Yeosang’s mood a hundred percent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As the pink-haired magician regains his bearings, he tilts his head in the direction of his room. “Mingi should be home too, but I’m certain you can borrow clothes from one of us until there’s less...of that in yours.” A glance at Yunho’s height and build tells him that he will drown in whatever fabric is thrown at him. However, he also knows better than to complain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As Yunho pulls his key from the lock, the last thing Yeosang expects is to be greeted by a battle cry emitting from Mingi’s side of the room. Within seconds, a glitter bomb slams against the nearly ill-timed shield that Yunho throws up in front of them. Illusion magic, particularly protective barriers, are not something that the books the blonde had borrowed from the library covered in depth. Truth be told, he had been focusing on the magical history rather than advanced spells. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Mingi, upon noticing Yeosang’s situation, gasps. “I’m so sorry,” he yelps, springing from his bed like a rabbit. “I didn’t realize you were with Yunho!” The man’s round eyes and panicked expression are enough to make Yeosang giggle. When the attention falls on him, Yunho smiling with some mixed form of open admiration and happiness, he pulls up a hand to cover his mouth. However, Mingi is already grinning as well. “You have a nice laugh,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Thank you,” Yeosang mumbles, gaze falling onto his bare feet. He didn’t have a true reason to be so insecure about his own laughter. Nor did he have one that made him fear speaking in front of others; unless you counted the slight lisp that had stuck with him since childhood. Yet, showing any form of weakness– humanity– felt like a vulnerability. Much like standing naked in one’s neighbor’s dorm room. With a cough, he pulls them back to the current predicament. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh,” Yunho says softly. In a stride, the older darts to his wardrobe to shuffle through what looks like seven dozen different outfits. “Preference?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Whatever can be worn to a party,” he says. In a heartbeat, though, he regrets saying it. Both men whip around to stare at him with bewildered expressions. “Hongjoong is having a party at the cottage. He asked if I wanted to stop by, but I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why would it be a bad idea?” Mingi asks, bouncing carefully on the mattress. “By the sound of things, you need out of your room for a bit.” The walls must be much thinner than Wooyoung and San expected. Or rather, they probably don’t even care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I don’t know any of the Physical Kids other than Hongjoong,” Yeosang says with a frown. “I feel like I’m invading their space. Plus, he’ll probably be busy with Seonghwa, anyways.” Yunho pulls a black and grey striped long-sleeve shirt from the closet and tosses it in Yeosang’s direction. Desperate to cover at least some portion of his bare skin, he tugs it on immediately. The shirt hangs loose around the neck, sliding off his shoulder with even the slightest movement. The sleeves are long enough that he could whack anyone he wanted with them without a single ounce of effort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You should go,” Yunho says, moving to his drawer in search of pants. “It’s not often that they invite first-years during opening weekend.” He pulls a pair of black sweatpants from the top compartment. “You don’t need underwear, do you? You can keep these, so like, you’re free to go commando.” The suggestion makes Yeosang blush, but he shakes his head. It wasn’t like he really had a choice at this point. Plus, he would have to stop by his room again for shoes and his phone, so he wouldn’t be confined to that particular pair of pants for eternity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Honestly, Yeosang, just go scope it out. Who knows, maybe one of us will end up in the Physical Discipline,” Mingi adds. “I’d offer to come with, but I have a date.” As he says it, Yunho’s figure turns to stone. The realization dawns on him like a sunrise. Yunho was in love with his best friend. For Yeosang, it’s like watching himself from an outside perspective.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh?” Yeosang hums, pretending not to notice Yunho’s sudden change. “Look at you, Casanova. Who’s the lucky person?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “My bed,” the strawberry-blonde cackles and flops back onto the mattress. “Dating is a hassle. Sleeping isn’t.” Yeosang’s eyes flicker to where Yunho adjusts the apparent set-up of his desk over and over. If he moves the same piece of amethyst from one side of his Harry Potter collection to the other again, the younger might actually have to call him out on it. With a grin, Yeosang pulls the sweatpants over his bare ass. He wouldn’t say anything in front of Mingi. However, the next time the two find themselves alone, he will certainly grill the pink-haired about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Lucky piece of furniture,” Yeosang mumbles. Carefully, he folds the damp towel over his arm. “You guys don’t mind if I chill here for a bit, do you?” He knows that it would be okay, however, the buzzing part of hsi nervous heart rings out like a bell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yunho shakes his head wildly. “Of course not, stay as long as you need to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeah,” Mingi says. Swiftly, he rolls onto his side and props his head up on his hand. “It seems like Wooyoung is built for stamina.” The other two choke on the observation. “I’m serious, he’s told San that he’s about to c–” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Mingi, please!” Yunho squawks and covers his ears. “We can hear it too. Really, there’s no need for a play-by-play.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Mingi narrows his eyes dramatically. “You are the same man who made me take the BDSM test annually since our fourth year of high school. I have a copy of your results,” he says and turns his attention to their guest. “Do you want it? I’ll send you–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No!” Yunho and Yeosang yelp at the same time. There were things that should be kept a secret until at least a week into someone’s friendship. With a frown, Mingi rolls onto his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You two are no fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And you,” Yunho grumbles, pointing toward the door, “need to clean up the damn mess you made.” Despite the command being directed at just a single member of the group, the trio still work together to clean up the Herpes of Arts and Crafts. Yeosang can’t draw his focus away from the sparkling cracks and crevices where the glitter had made its home. His neighbors would be picking the shimmering confetti off their socks for their entire stay. At least this wasn’t his dorm room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When the cacophony of squeaks and moans finally tapers off into near silence, Yeosang realizes that it may be safe to go back to his own space. It would be better to face the music than to avoid both of his roommates like the plague. After all, he did need somewhere to sleep. Sighing, the blonde withdraws from the intense Super Smash Tournament that the other two had conjured up on Mingi’s flat screen TV. Yunho, pouting after his third loss in the hour, tucks his head into his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “How are you pretty and lethal?” he asks. “It isn’t fair, share something with the rest of us.” Yeosang can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of his chest. Apparently, Yunho had not seen himself. He was made of cotton candy and bubblegum filling, wrapped in the perfect cameo-role of The Boy Next Door. His light pink strands falling into his eyes, paired with the deep brown of his irises, he is everything that a human puppy could look like. Yunho is kind of guy you bring home to your family and spend the rest of the night hearing them gush over his kindness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Mingi was similar. At first glance, the strawberry blonde radiated an aura of no-nonsense. He was tall and lean, the typical good-looking bad boy who would steal a million hearts and break them just as easily. But the moment his mouth opens, it is obvious that he is nowhere near that. His smile took up the majority of his face and carried with it blue skies after a month of rain. Eyes filled to the brim with stars, Yeosang swears that you could build new constellations in them. After knowing the two for less than twenty-four hours, he knew that he would never give them up for the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m going to head back, I think,” he says, pushing off of Mingi’s mattress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yunho nods, but stands with him anyways. “They sound like they’re done,” he chuckles, casting a glance toward his roommate. “Are you alright here if I head over with Yeosang?” he asks the youngest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Mingi shrugs, but flops backward onto his bed. Evidently, nap time had come sooner than expected. Even so, Yunho following him back to his dorm was unexpected. They hadn’t really talked about it, but Yeosang could only assume it was to tag along with him to the cottage. As they leave, Mingi calls out a soft, “Have fun! Use protection!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It’s only when the door closes that Yunho makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” he says quietly, and for a moment, Yeosang assumes it was to himself rather than anyone else. “I just wanted to tell San and Wooyoung about the silencing spells they can use.” His eyes are wide as they land on Yeosang’s dainty grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well,” the blonde says, motioning toward his own room. “It looks like you’re coming with me to a legendary party anyways.” Really, it would be more comfortable to go with someone else anyways. He had debated asking Wooyoung, but the odds were that San would tag along. And after all, Hongjoong had invited him as a way to get him out of the other two’s space while they worked through their issues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Looks like it,” Yunho mumbles, trailing after Yeosang as they wander to the door. Rather than knocking, he throws it open aggressively. He nearly barks out a laugh when he notices the way Yunho covers his eyes with the palm of his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you guys decent?” Yeosang asks, peeking into the room. San, sprawled on his own bed, has since thrown on a pair of grey sweatpants. The drawstrings hang alluringly over the toned expanse of his stomach and immediately Yeosang finds himself pulling his attention away. Wooyoung, however, is drowning in an oversized t-shirt and his boxers. When Yeosang sputters something about wearing pants, Wooyoung frowns pointedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You have had my dick in your ass,” the brunette bites and takes three quick steps toward Yeosang. “Don’t lecture me on public decency. We’re not in public.” With that, Wooyoung throws himself onto Yeosang’s bed and ignores the way the blonde huffs at the statement. The ancient frame squeaks as it threatens to buckle under the sudden descent. “Were you hiding out with the neighbors?” he asks, eyeing the way Yunho lingers in the threshold. The pink-haired offers a careful wave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You didn’t have to run out of here like that,” San perks up from his side of the room. “You live here too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang raises an eyebrow and ushers Yunho into the dorm. He forgot the door was still open. Despite his lack of pretest when it came to explicit speech, he also did not want the entire floor to hear about their personal activities; which reminded him of another topic. Crossing his arms over his chest, Yeosang sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Silencing spells,” he says, finally marching toward his drawer. As comfortable as it was to have no underwear on, it was not exactly the experience he wanted to endure for the entire party. Similarly, Yunho’s sweats were far too long for him. The bottoms dragged on the floor and would definitely not match his Docs or Vans. “Yunho, you mentioned that those were a thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The older brightens at the mention of his name. “Yeah!” he says excitedly. “Mingi and I have been using them since we were kids. It makes it easier when we–” he cuts himself off suddenly. Yeosang doesn’t have to look to know that the man’s ears are bright red. “When we play Mario Kart.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San doesn’t seem to notice the slip up. Instead, he smiles widely and rolls over onto his chest. “You guys have Mario Kart?” he chirps. “Invite me over sometime! I love that shit.” The pink-haired nods wildly, pushing the flustered expression from his face, and plops down into Yeosang’s chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeo just slammed us at Smash, so if you’re anything like him, I’m begging you to take it easy on us.” Yunho says fondly. The nickname catches the blonde off guard. Rarely did anyone use something so informal with him; especially after only twenty-four hours. Yet, he doesn’t hate it. Rather, it makes warmth blossom in his chest like a field of sunflowers. Gathering his clothing, he shoots Yunho a look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You don’t mind if I get this back to you after I wash it, right?” he asks and plucks at the material of the long-sleeved shirt he commandeered from the older. Yunho shakes his head. With a nod, Yeosang excuses himself to the bathroom to change and listens to the way the other three fall into soft conversation. The pink-haired man was different from Mingi. Where they both had magnetic personalities, Yunho was a river while Mingi was lava. Everyone Mingi touched seemed to melt, whereas Yunho simply swept people up in his charm. As the bathroom door clicks into place, Yeosang can hear the discussion over silencing charms slip through the cracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Sliding out of the sweatpants, he lets them pool at his feet as he works to carefully balance himself long enough to pull his boxers on. From outside, Wooyoung’s voice squeaks out a high-pitched response to some quip that San throws his way. The bitter tang of jealousy tinges at the back of Yeosang’s throat like ebbing poison. In the moments that he manages to push the feeling of being replaced out of his mind, it somehow finds a way to crawl back in. Holding his breath, he glances toward the mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      What he expects to see is a green, slimy monster with horns tearing from his skin. Instead, tired eyes meet his own. Blonde hair slightly frizzy from not being properly dried, he can see all of the split ends from continuous touch-ups. What stares back isn’t a creature from the deep; he is entirely human. How could someone so normal have such deplorable thoughts racing through his mind? His reflection only frowns back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With a soft groan, he reaches down to pluck the black, ripped jeans from the floor. They had been his favorite for years and would easily match the top he borrowed from Yunho, but for some reason, the material feels alien in his hands. Everything about his life feels completely unnatural right now. Whether it was the floor he walked on or the way the lighting in the small bathroom threatened to wash out his golden skin with its surgical white, the world screamed that he did not belong. He did not fit like a missing puzzle piece into the mundane world, and evidently, it felt like the magical realm was rejecting his very existence as well. It’s only as he is zipping up the pants that a knock resounds through the space with an echo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeosangie?” Wooyoung’s voice flits through the room like a hummingbird. High-pitched; like the lightning fast wings of the small creature. “Are you alright?” It might as well give him the image of sugarplum faeries dancing around his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeah,” he calls out. Honey laden and full of false-sweetness, he can only hope that Wooyoung drops the topic. “I’ll be out in a second.” And he makes true to that promise. Within a breath, he has tucked the long shirt into his waistband, giving the illusion of a fashion-able fit, and smoothed the wild white-blonde strands of hair that threaten to float away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When the door opens, Wooyoung is standing just beyond the threshold with a bizarre expression. “What’s wrong?” Yeosang asks, taking in the brunette’s position. His arms are crossed over his chest with his feet spread just enough to mimic a power stance, but his shoulders slump as soon as he meets the blonde’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why were you taking so long?” Wooyoung questions, pushing closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m going to meet up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa,” he casts a look in Yunho’s direction. The man glances up from his phone as soon as he feels Yeosang’s gaze. “Yunho is coming with me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung juts out his bottom lip just enough to make it quiver. “Why am I not invited?” he asks as Yeosang shoulders past him into the main area of the room. “You know I love parties. Invite me.” The demand falls onto him painfully. He wants nothing more than to go to a party with his best friend; just like old times. However, he knows the reason Hongjoong invited him. It would be stupid to bring the person the older was trying to take his mind off of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I can’t,” Yeosang half-lies. He could, but he won’t. “Hongjoong said I could only bring one person and Yunho was free.” A complete lie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I was free,” the younger whines. “Why would you assume I wasn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Because,” Yeosang says, balling up Yunho’s sweatpants to shove them into his dirty clothing hamper. “You were definitely busy for an hour or so.” He glances in the other’s direction long enough to see him look mildly bashful. Good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You could have joined us.” The suggestion is meant to be light-hearted, Yeosang knows. However, it doesn’t mean the steel dagger has any less of an effect on his heart and it twists painfully. “You and I have talked about stuff like this–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Wooyoung,” Yeosang warns lowly. “This is not a conversation I really want to have right now, okay? You and San just have a good time tonight. I’ll text you when I’m coming home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeosang–” The blonde doesn’t let him finish. Instead, he moves across the room and snags his boots from the rack beneath his bed. Skillfully, he slides them over his socks and laces them with nimble fingers in seconds. “You can’t avoid this conversation forever,” Wooyoung calls as Yeosang stands back up. Phone in hand, Yeosang tilts his head toward the door. Yunho accepts the chance to evacuate gratefully and practically sprints out of the room as Yeosang yells a quick goodbye. The sound of something slamming into the wooden barrier between them sends the two bolting down the corridor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Is he always like that?” Yunho asks as Yeosang taps out a quick message to Hongjoong. “Don’t take it the wrong way, please, but he seems stressed. Are you sure you shouldn’t just tell him to come with us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang sighs. “Wooyoung doesn’t get to have everything he wants. If it was up to him, we would be running an underground strip club dedicated to fictional characters.” When Yunho barks out a laugh, Yeosang swears that it lights up the entire street. It wouldn’t surprise him, especially if Yunho was an Illusionist, but he knows that it was just his eyes playing a trick on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “A cosplay strip club? Sounds kinky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Trust me, it’s just Wooyoung.” Yeosang whispers as Hongjoong’s name appears on his screen. He accepts the call quickly. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      “Yeosang! How far away are you guys?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>There is the distinct sound of music pounding in the background. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hwa and I will come out to meet you. The cottage is kind of hidden this year.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Not worse than the Illusionist Castle, I hope?” Yeosang asks, remembering what he had read about that particular location. It was an entirely invisible kingdom just for the light weavers. The worst part, Yeosang realized, were the dozens of winding, spiral staircases that apparently led to the building's entrance. He would never want to be drunk there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong laughs into the receiver. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Not quite that bad, however, some genius Naturalist decided to block us in with a shit ton of trees.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We’re just passing the library, so it’ll be a few. I’ll text you when we’re almost there,” Yeosang responds. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      “Good,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hongjoong says airily. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Some girl has been trying to climb my boyfriend like a tree, so I was really hoping to give her some tall, pink-haired eye candy to ogle instead.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He hangs up before Yeosang can bumble out a coherent response. With a glance at Yunho, he knows the comment was loud enough to reach his ears as well. The same ones that were flushing more vibrantly with every passing second. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cute</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So, you and Mingi?” Yeosang suggests. “How long has that been a thing?” As soon as he says it, the taller stops in the middle of the sidewalk. Passerbys grumble at his best attempt to be the newest statue addition to the local art exhibit, but Yunho does not budge until Yeosang waves in front of his face. “It’s a secret then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No,” Yunho mumbles, breaking out of his deer-in-headlights trance. “It isn’t a thing at all.” He tries to speed walk away from the younger, but evidently does not remember Yeosang’s competitive nature. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no you don’t. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I know we hardly are past being strangers,” Yeosang says, “but don’t lie to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yunho spins around, yet continues moving quickly in the same direction. Unless Illusionists had secret eyes in the back of their head, Yeosang can only assume that the man is pushing forward blindly. “It isn’t a thing!” Yunho yelps. “I swear, it’s not. We just kiss sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang grins behind his palm. “That qualifies as a thing.” Yunho stops again, an affronted expression gracing his features. Narrowing his gaze, he places his hands on his hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And you, Wooyoung, and San? What kind of thing is that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang winces as the grouping surfaces. They were a trio now, whether he wanted to be part of it or not. “San and Wooyoung are a thing,” he says, ignoring the way his heart strings play like a broken violin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Don’t lie to me either, Yeosang.” Yunho’s tone takes on something more serious. Brotherly. “I see the way you and Wooyoung look at each other. Also, what the hell was up with him offering to let you join them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang cringes. “Same as you, then,” he mumbles. “We fuck around sometimes.” He knows this topic is his fault entirely, and yet, he isn’t exactly upset that it is a conversation they’re having. Really, it feels nice to be able to openly talk about it with someone. However, that doesn’t make it any less awkward. Afterall, he and Yunho were practically strangers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      By the time they reach the winding labyrinth that leads to the Physical Kids’ cottage, the weird atmosphere seems to fade entirely from the space around them. A bond forms between them, under the watchful gaze of the night sky, and Yeosang feels that same fluttery heartbeat that comes with the magic lacing his veins. Only this time, it is something different than that electric buzz that lingers. Instead, it is powerful and thrumming. As his fingers race over the keyboard of his messaging app, the energy draws him closer to the treeline. It’s then that Seonghwa’s face appears in the darkness. With a yelp, Yunho stumbles back a good few feet. Seonghwa laughs and hurriedly reaches out to steady the taller man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Shit, Hongjoong was right, I didn’t even see the path,” Yunho mumbles, looking between the older boy and the stepping stones that disappear into the thicket of pines. “What Naturalist did you guys piss off?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I honestly don’t know,” Seonghwa says with a frown. “Probably one of the upperclassmen broke someone’s heart. It happens all of the time.” Turning on his heel, he beckons them to follow. “Only drink what I give you and don’t trust a soul in the house that isn’t yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Not even you, hyung?” Yeosang asks with a quirked brow. Seonghwa grimaces and palms at the back of his neck nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “After a few drinks, I especially wouldn’t trust myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And it is nearly six drinks later when the younger magicians realize exactly what he meant. Seonghwa, usually cool and collected, has somehow sprawled himself out on the couch, top three buttons of his light-blue shirt undone, and hair pushed back from his sweaty forehead. Every time Hongjoong tries to slide a glass of water in his boyfriend’s direction, the blonde groans and tries to undo the buckle on his belt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s hot,” he moans, rolling onto his side just enough to curl in on himself. “I want this off.” He plucks at the material, dampened by perspiration, and tries again to rid it from his figure. Yunho, four drinks in and hardly tipsy, stills the older’s fingers with his hand. Hongjoong flops onto the floor beside the couch, huffing in irritation, and rubs his temples. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He always does this,” the blue-haired says softly. Under the weight of his words, his voice cracks like melting ice. It isn’t until Yeosang sees the tears brimming in the man’s eyes that he realizes exactly what is about to happen. In a breath, Hongjoong is suddenly slumped against the coffee table– sobbing. Immediately panicked, Yeosang places a soothing palm on the older’s back. Carefully, he massages gentle circles into the taught flesh. “I love him so much,” he chokes out, leaning into Yeosang’s touch. Emotional drunks. Wonderful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m sure he loves you just the same, Hongjoong,” the blonde mumbles, casting a glance toward Seonghwa. The Healer doesn’t seem to be listening. Rather, he is struggling to unbutton the rest of his shirt while Yunho squawks at him loudly. It feels quite like Yeosang was taken out of one stressful situation and put into another. This time, though, he is a glorified babysitter. “Have you talked to him about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “About what?” Hongjoong sniffles, wiping his eyes. Yeosang blinks slowly. Suddenly, slamming his forehead against the coffee table sounds like a good idea. He had no clue why Hongjoong was crying in the first place, so how could he even begin to answer that question. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Yeosang takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “About how much you love him? Or possibly that he can’t handle his liquor?” The blonde watches Hongjoong’s mouth pop into a plump, pink ‘o’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh,” he stage-whispers as though Seonghwa isn’t sitting directly behind them. “Of course I have.” He puffs out his cheeks like a pouting toddler. “We’ve been together for years. He’s probably sick of hearing it by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hearing what?” Seonghwa mumbles from beneath Yunho. The younger has his hands pinned above his head and is straddling the blonde’s waist. To the outside perspective, it would definitely give someone mixed signals. However, not a single member of the group flinches at the scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That I love you,” Hongjoong says, turning toward his boyfriend. “And that you’re a dickhead when you’re trashed.” Seonghwa squirms under Yunho’s weight as he tries to wriggle free. The pink-haired, however, doesn’t budge. “Do you think you can carry him up to my room, Yunho?” With a nod, the younger slides off of Seonghwa’s hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Excuse me?” Seonghwa yelps, hardly registering the taller’s arms around his waist until he is suddenly launched over Yunho’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Hey–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Go wait for me,” Hongjoong tells his boyfriend. The command that lingers in his voice is powerful. If magic came with words, Hongjoong would harness more power than Yeosang could see possible. “I’ll be in soon.” He polishes it off with a sloppy wink that lights up Seonghwa’s face like a cherry beacon. Yunho laughs and carries the beast up the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The moment they’re out of sight, the older turns to Yeosang with a soft chuckle. “Can I ask you something?” Hongjoong says softly. The blonde bites back the strong desire to quip back with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘you just did’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>and instead nods silently. “Do you love Wooyoung?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang practically jokes on his own spit. “What? Of course I do,” he stutters, hoping the panic is masked beneath the distant expression he schools over his features. At first, Hongjoong smiles. But then, Yeosang always had the habit of clarifying himself. “He’s my best friend. I wouldn’t be here without him,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong looks like he is a second away from strangling the younger. “That isn’t what I meant, Yeosang,” he groans. “Are you in love with him? Romantically?” The question makes his heart race like sunset skateboarding in the park. The approaching danger of darkness and the sheer unknowns of moving forward in time. Before Yeosang can respond with an obvious lie, Hongjoong holds up a finger. “You hesitated. You do love him, but you were about to bullshit me because you want me to think you’re aloof, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang’s jaw snaps shut. Of course he was right. Who the hell let someone be so observant? Especially after twenty-four hours? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You are allowed to find love, Yeosang,” Hongjoong says, placing a hand on his knee. “But, if you don’t tell him soon, I’m scared that you won’t give yourself time to really understand who you are. There is so much in life that you might miss if you spend all of it weighing the haves and have nots.” Hongjoong’s palm travels further up his leg, just brushing the inseam of his jeans. As his thumb brushes one of the rips on Yeosang’s thigh, he carefully rubs a swift circle over the soft flesh. The feeling elicits a sigh from the blonde’s lips that he wants nothing more than to eradicate from existence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What are you doing?” Yeosang whispers. He doesn’t move away, however, and internally he smacks himself. He knew exactly what was happening, and yet, he was not stopping it. Hongjoong smiles softly, sadly, and pulls his hand away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Letting you know that you are welcome to spend time with Hwa and I whenever you would like to.” His gaze drifts to the tightness that has appeared in Yeosang’s pants. He smirks and leans forward just enough to cup the younger’s chin in the palm of his hand. “It’s an open invitation. Always. We already talked about it,” he whispers into Yeosang’s ear. The warm breath dances along the sensitive flesh, sending a shiver down his spine, and the younger nearly coos. “Can I kiss you?” Hongjoong asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” It isn’t. There is no reason for it to be a positive suggestion in the slightest, and yet, Yeosang doesn’t want to say no. What he wants is to forget the sound of Wooyoung’s high-pitched keening as he wailed through the dorm’s thin walls. To forget the way he looked with his dark hair pulled away from his face as he licked a clean stripe up Yeosang’s dick in their old apartment. For once, he just wants to forget. Hongjoong nods, the smile on his face nervous, and Yeosang feels his resolve shatter beneath him like the iridescent glass horse. “Please, kiss me,” he whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong wastes no time crashing their lips together. At first, he sets a fervorous, bruising pace that Yeosang can hardly keep up with. It’s desperate and full of something deeper. A hint of mystery that Yeosang can’t place his finger on as the blue-haired pushes him against the base of the couch. The cottage’s hardwood floor makes his knees ache and the edge of the couch frame digs into his spine painfully, but they’re easy to ignore with the taste of strawberry lip gloss flooding his senses. Hongjoong tastes like summer and kisses just the same. As he tilts his head expertly, Yeosang catches the delicate sea-salt scent of the other man’s shampoo. Then, all too soon, the older is pulling away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Breathing heavily, he rests his forehead on Yeosang’s shoulder. “Wow,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the blonde’s next. It’s almost impossible to remember that they are sitting in the center of a very public party as Hongjoong sucks a mark into the tender flesh. When he drags his lips away from the skin, he smiles up at Yeosang. “Seonghwa is already upstairs if you want to stay the night.” He knows that Hongjoong means it; that this offer is just for him. And for a moment, he almost says yes. But then, the memory of flawless gold and a tiny mole speckling a particular brunette’s eye makes him catch his breath. Hongjoong frowns, eyes darkening, and sighs. “Another time, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Let me think about it,” Yeosang whispers, hardly wanting to admit the truth. As they stand, the blonde does something unthinkable. Maybe it is thanks to the cocktail of whatever jungle juice was brewed up in his cup, but something makes him reach out for the smaller man and tug him against his chest. Hongjoong sighs into the embrace with a wide smile. “You are both so beautiful. I just need to see if I can balance a relationship with my classes first.” He shouldn’t say something like that. Something that instills possibly false hope in the heart of a man who has done nothing but help him since they met. “Just give me time,” he says softly, pressing a kiss into Hongjoong’s hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>Time was all anyone ever had.</em>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, starshine! Thanks for reading. </p><p>Follow me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji<br/>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>- Cheers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. fool's gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW// Injury, Brief Smut* </p><p>*Page Breaks have been inserted before and after so that you can skip it if that's not your cup of tea. TLDR for that section will be in the end notes.*</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em> “Hudson died on Hudson Bay, but I was born on Sutton Place. </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em> The rising tide helped me decide to change my name again. </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em> Some men tend to linger on and some make haste from Babylon. </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em> Some will roam their ruined home; rejoicing 'til the end. </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em> Over and over again, all these never-ending visions. </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em> Over and over again like a prize that's changing hands. </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em> The time has come, the clock is such a drag. </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em> All you who changed your stripes can wrap me in the flag.” </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"><b> <em>Hudson</em> </b> <em> - Vampire Weekend </em></a>
  </p>
  <hr/>
</blockquote><p>
  <em> 🜄 ✧ 🜁  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Yeosang?” The voice is distant. The vague, childish uptilt to the words surfaces like a ship from the depths of the sea. It’s entirely unexpected given the small detail of knowing approximately four children; none of which are British. The thought is almost hilarious to him. However, when the world around him begins to filter into vivid reality, he realizes that nothing about this experience is a joke.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       Before him, a young boy sits with his legs hanging over the edge of a large stone. A tombstone, Yeosang realizes with a jolt. The child’s black hair has been pushed beneath the fabric of a charcoal beret. His round face is wholly visible, save for the branch of leaves that hangs just above his head and obscures the innocent expression he wears.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       As Yeosang takes in their surroundings, the topsy-turvy feeling of deja vu leaks into his veins like day-old punch. It’s diluted beyond repair and spreads over him with a lukewarm shower. He knows that he has never seen this place before, and yet, it beckons him. The clearing they’re stationed in and the tall trees that dance in the subtle breeze. The lingering scent of apple blossoms coasting through the air; tickling his tenses. He realizes, slowly, that four graves rest at his feet.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       “You’re late,” the child says softly. “Don’t test time when you only have so much of it.” Yeosang frowns as the brunette speaks. Suddenly, the boy jumps off of his perch with a dull thud. His small frame moves gracefully as he tiptoes close enough for Yeosang to see the way his dark eyes swirl with what feels like a million different colors. “Can I trust you to keep a secret?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       The blonde wants nothing more than to take off in the other direction. Secrets were something that he was wonderful at keeping, however, the idea of maintaining one for a random kid did not appeal to him. However, before he can decline, the boy is grabbing his wrist and tugging him closer to the stone graves. Their mossy surfaces wink at him as he is forced to analyze the names that reflect back.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       The first two are written in a language that Yeosang has never seen before. It is made of sharp edges and hundreds of intricate dots. One might even consider it to be an image etched into the stone. Afterall, a picture is worth a thousand words.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       The others, however, are clearly Romanized. The names shine back like beacons in the twilight: Kim Maddox and Kim Yonghwan. Names that he knows, somewhere deep down, that he should know. That he should recognize. However, the memory does not surface.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       “Leave the garden path, Kang Yeosang. If you care for your friends and Utopia, you won’t risk everything for a taste of the treasure.” Treasure. The final word ignites the ember that threatens to set his life alight. It ebbs and wanes, glowing beneath the flickering shadows of the leaves far above him, and for a moment, Yeosang considers turning the world to ash. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Treasure?” His voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. Evidently, wherever they were was not meant to relay messages as a conversation. It crackles like TV static. Suddenly, childhood seems to take hold. It clenches his heart in a vice grip as he realizes exactly where he had seen Kim Maddox and Kim Yonghwan. “The Treasure Key,” he whispers. The boy before him frowns. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       “Do not chase it,” he says quietly. “You are not meant to find it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       “It’s real?” Yeosang hardly manages to utter the question when the brunette is latching onto his wrist. The child slams the magician’s palm against the cool surface of the stone. Beneath it, he feels the searing agony of something branding itself in the sensitive flesh. He does not know how long he screams and thrashes, however, he does register the way the child chants the same four words like a mantra.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       “Leave the garden path.” </em>
</p><p>As the morning light filters over his skin, slick with a dewy layer of sweat, Yeosang has a moment of disorientation. The forest clearing has vingietted into the dorm room he shares with San and Wooyoung. The young boy is nowhere to be found. His haunting song is instead replaced with the cacophonous snores that leave Wooyoung’s slack jaw. <em> It had only been a dream. </em>With a sigh, Yeosang pushes himself upright. </p><p>Today would be the first day of their classes. It would be an absolute lie to say that he felt at all well-rested. Even more so if 6AM classified as a quality time to roll out of bed when their first class did not even begin until 11:45AM. It would be impossible to go back to sleep, however, as every bit of his body hummed with the remaining adrenaline. It is not until his right palm curls around the silky sheets, attempting to pull them off, that he notices it. </p><p>What used to be pristine skin was now marked with a deep, angry brand. The memory of the dream flips through his mind like a photobook. <em> How </em> ? Rather than having the distinct appearance of a burn, however, it seems to have been healed over. The rational, still entirely mundane, portion of his brain screams about how impossible that logic is. Yet, here he sat in the bed of a school just for magicians. <em> Fucking magicians of all things.  </em></p><p>Eyebrows furrowing, he inspects the rigid lines of the mark. Two bold circles run in loops around the outside portion of the new scar with a barely-there circle appearing just inside their walls. Further inward, a hexagon cradles another circle overlaid by a thick triangle. In the very center, two more circles appear. In various locations around the injury, miniscule script has been scrawled in nearly perfect cursive. A transmutation circle. </p><p>He gasps as the realization hits him full force. The child had been magically inclined. Not simply that, he was a strong enough magician to brand Yeosang out of the physical realm. The thought makes a shiver run down his spine. It seemed that he would not be grabbing breakfast with his roommates and neighbors as promised. Instead, he shifts until his feet finally touch the chilled hardwood floor. With a hiss, he waddles over to the wardrobe to pull out a random t-shirt to throw under his dark hoodie. </p><p>Maybe, it would be a better idea to show up to Day 1 of syllabus week by putting in a little more effort. However, the thought of drawing more attention to himself was something he would rather avoid at any cost. <em> Let people make their own assumptions, </em> he thinks bitterly, <em> they’ll do it anyways. </em>He closes the bathroom door behind himself with a sharp click.</p><p>Resolving to spend the rest of his morning at the library, he trudges through the still lingering fog that wafts above the dewy grass. Kang Yeosang was never a morning person. Despite the beauty that came with the sunrise and the fresh, untouched feeling that settled over the world in the early hours, the thought of being awake before 10AM made his skin crawl. And evidently, most of the students here are not either. It isn’t until he makes it to the library that he sees another soul.</p><p>From a distance, Yeosang cannot make out any of the man’s details. The only thing that manages to stand out in particular is the flash of red that bands his otherwise black hair like a halo. As the rising sun hits the bright toned strands, he glows like the UV reactive paint Wooyoung had once covered the blonde’s skateboard in for a rave. For a split second, it is entirely possible the person might be an angel. That is, until a loud curse meteors through the atmosphere. </p><p>“Fucking shit!” the man yells, lifting whatever he had been looking at far above their head. A book; an old one at that. It’s with a panicked breath that Yeosang realizes his goal is most certainly to throw it into the pond that surrounds the library’s fountain. Operating on autopilot, he somehow manages to skid to a stop behind the other just before his grasp leaves the print.</p><p>“Hey!” he yells, startling the man out of his rage. “Are you okay?” It’s a quiet approach this time. Speaking abruptly and aggressively was not something that he enjoyed doing. His heart felt as though it would never come to rest again. With a frown, he places his hand over his chest. </p><p>The man turns around slowly. The first thing Yeosang notices up close is just how clear his eyes are. They're a deep, dark brown that look like the galaxy photos taken by NASA’s telescopes. For a moment, his doe-like stare draws the blonde’s breath right out of his chest. And then, his eyebrows furrow.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” the angel says formally, “but do I know you? You don’t look like someone I should remember.” Yeosang can’t prevent himself from sputtering. Somehow, the question pinches him between the ribs. People forgot him all of the time, but the thought of someone so ethereal letting the memory of his face slip makes his own expression sour. </p><p>“Of course not,” he bites out. “But you did just scream ‘fuck’ across the courtyard.” Glancing around at the boy’s set-up, he slowly pieces together the intricate sigil drawn beneath a wide variety of odds and ends. Candles, incense, ash, teeth, sulfur– teeth? The tiny bones make him do a double-take. Yeosang was raised to be polite. He was raised to smile, wave, and check on people when needed. He, however, was not raised to deal with someone who obviously did not want to be interrupted in whatever weird-ass ritual they were performing. </p><p>“It’s a rising sun ritual,” the man grits out, setting the book back onto the grass safely. “I was testing something out and it didn’t work. No need to worry.” He glances up at Yeosang with a squint. “You look like shit.” </p><p>Yeosang immediately cuffs the man on the back of the head. “Is that how you talk to strangers?” he barks. The redhead bursts into a gummy smile and holds out a hand. Yeosang can only stare at the offering as though the other has just tried to gift him the teeth from his materials. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Trying to become not-strangers,” he says, that smile still ever-present on his lips. “I’m Choi Jongho. Now, it’s my turn to ask. Are you alright?”</p><p>“Kang Yeosang,” the blonde sighs and grips his hand gently. Jongho has a strong handshake, one that definitely reflects a powerful upbringing, and Yeosang feels a flicker of familiarity pass through him. He can see himself in the other’s stance. Guarded, but willing to meet others. Raised to be the perfect heir, but afraid of disappointment. It’s all in the glance that the other gives him when he pulls his hand out of the steady hold. “I’m as alright as I can be,” Yeosang says quietly. </p><p>His other palm thrums at the admission. A lodestar trying to pull him into telling the truth to someone he just met. Yeosang digs that one into the front pocket of his hoodie. Jongho watches it happen, eyes narrowed, and reaches out like a bandit to snag the sleeve of the other magician. Yanking, he frees Yeosang’s palm with little effort. </p><p>“What the fuck,” Jongho whispers, staring closely at the alchemical design scarred into the golden canvas. “Why do you have a human transmutation circle engraved onto your hand?” The redhead drops his wrist as though scalded. <em> A human transmutation circle? </em>That was one that Yeosang hadn’t heard of.</p><p>The blonde tucks his hand back into the pocket with a glare. “Oh, is that what it is? I was going to go look it up.” It’s honest, at least, but Jongho’s expression darkens as he says it.</p><p>“What do you mean?” he asks lowly. “Did someone tattoo it on you at a party or something stupid?” When Yeosang doesn’t respond, Jongho sighs and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Don’t answer me then. I’ll find the answer eventually.” With that, he packs up the leftover portions of his ritual carefully and turns on his heel. It is three silent minutes before Jongho’s form disappears into the sun-caught golden mist.</p><p>Human transmutation, Yeosang learns from a quick Google search, is the act of transforming human substance into another form. Necromancy; the act of bringing back the dead. To transmute human material is the same as playing God, building a body, and stitching a soul to the remains. It was highly illegal and the highest crime a magician could commit without expressed permission from at least four dozen sources. And somehow, a wild British kid decided to thrust him right into that portion of the magical universe. <em> Fuck. </em></p><p>It’s when he finds himself at the infirmary, cradled between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, that he realizes just how trapped he actually is. The moment the final verdict came through, that Yeosang was branded with a mark from Hell itself, he called Hongjoong in a panic. He didn’t let it hit him how bizarre it was not to call Wooyoung first until Seonghwa’s cautious fingers were wrapping white gauze around the alchemical sigil. As the scissors slice through the thin fabric, the oldest leans back on his heels just enough to look Yeosang in the eye. </p><p>“I’m sorry I can’t just heal it,” he says softly. “The good news about that is that it can’t be considered an injury,” he pauses. Hongjoong’s free hand reaches around Yeosang, who registers the fact that he is sitting in the blue-haired’s lap, and squeezes Seonghwa’s knee comfortingly. “The bad news is that I don’t know how else to help you hide it until we can get you in to talk to Eden.”</p><p>“Will he even help me?” Yeosang asks quietly, trying not to bask in the way Seonghwa’s thumb rubs soft circles into the sensitive curve of his wrist. “What if he just kicks me out instead? I don’t have proof of what happened.”</p><p>Hongjoong laughs and presses a kiss to the younger’s temple. It’s featherlight, like moth wings in the candlelight, but it makes Yeosang’s heart race nonetheless. <em> Right </em>. They still had their own things to discuss. </p><p>“Eden seems like a terrifying bastard,” Hongjoong says, “but he’s actually a big teddy bear. He’s been my direct mentor since I came to Utopia and never once has he done anything to jeopardize my place here.”</p><p>“And he has done plenty of questionable things,” Seonghwa quips, narrowly dodging the well-timed kick that his boyfriend sends his way. “Joong is right, though, Yeosang. You’re smart, but you’re still a newbie. The markings on this transmutation circle are perfect– down to the last dot. It wouldn’t make sense to blame you.”</p><p>“Plus,” Hongjoong adds with a smile, “I don’t think you have tried to bring anyone back to life, right?” </p><p>“If I had magic in the past,” Yeosang whispers, unsure of how to approach the topic. “I might have.” Neither man pushes any further. He watches the way their eyes widen, but as though he said nothing, Hongjoong just massages his neck. </p><p>“Good thing you didn’t then.” </p><p>Time passes like sand trickling through the thin pipe of an hourglass. Hongjoong managed to wrangle him into a horizontal position on Seonghwa’s bed. The room’s owner, however, chose to sandwich the youngest between the two of them. As soon as Yeosang made a soft noise of confusion, the other blonde simply offered a gentle smile. </p><p>“You’ve been awake for hours and don’t have class until nearly noon. Just nap with us until you need to leave,” Seonghwa mumbles into his shoulder. The way the two men cradle him, despite not giving them a clean-cut answer, makes him feel appreciated. <em> Safe </em>. </p><p>For a while, Yeosang watches as the clock climbs higher and higher. With every passing minute, the general first-day anxiety starts to leech off of his exhaustion. It isn’t until Hongjoong whispers a soft, “ <em> you’re shaking the bed </em>”, that he realizes the jitters have reached his muscles as well. His leg had been bouncing up and down frantically for God knows how long. Embarrassed, he tries to cover his face, only to hear a faint chuckle to his other side.</p><p>“Do you want us to take your mind off of it?” The question comes out of Seonghwa’s mouth innocently. However, the implication is anything but. Before Yeosang can avoid it, the older continues. “I understand that we barely know each other, and that you haven’t had time to feel out your classes yet, but Hongjoong was serious when he told you that we’re both interested in you, Yeosang.” Seonghwa’s gaze meets his own with unfiltered affection. It makes Yeosang’s face grow warm within seconds. </p><p>“He’s right,” Hongjoong says. “Obviously, you still need to see if you have time for us between classes, but if you just want something physical, that’s okay for now too.” Yeosang’s mind flashes to Wooyoung. Something physical was all they had ever been. It was that kind of relationship that slowly felt like it was chipping away at his self-preservation. Yet, it doesn’t take him long to make up his mind. Just this once. </p><p>“If physical is alright for now,” he mumbles, the heat rushing to his cheeks, “I’m more than into the idea right now.” Both men laugh warmly. It’s a sound that makes his heart thrum with a melody he has never quite heard before. Suddenly, he feels the need to add on. “I’m clean, by the way. In case that would be a concern.”</p><p>Seonghwa leans over him just enough to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. “So are we,” he says, glancing over at Hongjoong. “Thank you for telling us right away.” He nods as Seonghwa runs his fingers through the loose strands of hair that tickle his brow. “Do you care if I kiss you?”</p><p>“Please,” Yeosang whispers. In his ear, Hongjoong chuckles softly. Yeosang tries to make a noise in response, but it is swallowed by the oldest’s lips falling over his own. Seonghwa kisses him as though he is made of glass. The complete opposite of the time Hongjoong made out with him at the party, Seonghwa has a way of taking his time like he is unwrapping a gift on Christmas. Every move is calculated. </p><hr/><p><em>***      </em>He doesn’t know exactly how long it takes for Seonghwa to straddle his hips, but when he does, Yeosang appreciates the way the magician carefully pins his wrists above his head. If it wasn’t for that, he would have been stuck floundering between the two men. Sex wasn’t something new for him, however, being with multiple people at once definitely took some getting used to. It was like relearning how to ride a bike; completely natural, but still testing his limits. As if sensing the way Yeosang tenses up with the sudden realization that he was in uncharted waters, Seonghwa pulls away for a moment. His forehead presses against Yeosang’s gently.</p><p>“We can stop at anytime,” he says, breath warm on the younger’s lips. “You don’t have to push yourself.”</p><p>“No,” Yeosang responds softly. His chest rises and falls rapidly, but it is the cost of being alive. Of feeling alive. He tries to offer the older a reassuring smile, but knows that the expression probably comes across more nervous than anything. Still, Yeosang slots their lips together once more.</p><p>Seonghwa tastes like toothpaste and coffee. He is the casual comfort of home and coziness wrapped into the silhouette of a Grecian statue. The older moves one of his hands away from Yeosang’s wrists, instead dragging it down his cheek, neck, and finally resting it on his chest. Despite the breathlessness of their actions, Yeosang relaxes into the touch welcomely.</p><p>Hongjoong, noticing the way his body visibly relaxes into his boyfriend’s hold, smiles against the younger’s neck. He presses a delicate kiss just beneath his ear. The blue-haired pulls the sharp points of his canines along his collar like a vampire testing for the perfect sweet spot. It’s when Yeosang feels the man’s tongue brush over the sensitive flesh that he gasps loudly and wriggles under Seonghwa’s grip.</p><p>“Someone likes neck kisses,” Hongjoong mumbles against the skin. “Good to know.” He doesn’t say anything else as he sucks a mark just below the edge of Yeosang’s hoodie. It wouldn’t be visible with today’s outfit, however, he would have to be careful around Wooyoung when they changed. It’s a distant thought through foggy lust, but with it comes the chill of realization for what they’re doing. Even as Seonghwa’s hand travels lower and brushes over his half-hard dick. Yeosang closes his eyes and keens into Seonghwa’s mouth. </p><p>The older takes the opportunity to smile against the blonde’s lips. Licking into Yeosang’s mouth, he runs the tip of his tongue along the hard palate, tickling the area. Yeosang, ever so receptive, makes a muffled noise in the back of his throat. It only grows louder and more high-pitched as Seonghwa continues to palm him through his jeans. </p><p>Hongjoong scoots lower on the queen sized mattress with a smile. Yeosang can’t see his expression, but he can hear it as the blue-haired vocalizes himself. “Can I?” he asks, thumbing over the button on Yeosang’s pants. Seonghwa pulls off of him long enough to let the youngest respond.</p><p>Panting, he whispers, “Yes, a thousand times, yes.” Within seconds, Hongjoong has rolled the fabric of the blonde’s jeans down to his thighs. Seonghwa presses their lips together again, this time softly, and gently works his mouth open once more. He only just settles back into a rhythm when wet heat surrounds the tip of Yeosang’s dick. Writhing under the men, the youngest’s eyes shoot open. </p><p>Hongjoong has positioned himself between his knees with a cat-like grin. Despite the innocence in his expression, he mouths at the fabric covering the younger’s cock. When Yeosang squirms again, he stops. Seonghwa glances toward his boyfriend, sharing the same concerned expression, and immediately the blue-haired sits up. </p><p>“Is this okay?” Hongjoong asks again. Yeosang flushes. Of course, it was nerve wracking to be under the attention of two of the most beautiful men he had ever seen. However, that was as far as his mild awkwardness was extending to his clouded mind. </p><p>“Yeah,” he says softly, “Sorry, it’s just a bit new.” He hopes that the way the pink tint spreads down his neck is hardly noticeable. Otherwise, he might look like Yunho with his brightly tipped ears. The image nearly makes him chuckle. <em> Don’t think about Yunho while there are two men trying to go down on you, dorkass, </em>he scolds mentally. Hongjoong hums and thumbs at the head of his dick through the plaid blue and white cotton with a thoughtful expression.</p><p>“Can I just move right onto the fun part?” he asks, guffawing when Seonghwa lets out a strangled sound. “What? He’s obviously interested and you’re not helping him take his mind off of things by shoving your tongue down his throat.”</p><p>“I wasn’t shoving my tongue down his throat!” Seonghwa coughs, face tinting an adorable shade of salmon. </p><p>“You kind of were,” Yeosang quips, giggling when the older produces an affronted gasp. Hongjoong carefully tugs the material of Yeosang’s boxers down to this thighs. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, hyung.” Nonetheless, Seonghwa does not slip his tongue anywhere near Yeosang’s soft palate when he presses another heated kiss to the man’s lips. While the new magician whines under the wet heat Hongjoong’s kitten licks along the base of his dick, Seonghwa works his warm fingers beneath the thick fabric of Yeosang’s hoodie and t-shirt. His touch ghosts down the younger’s ribs, playing them like some intricate piano.</p><p>“You’re so pretty, Yeosang,” the eldest murmurs, feathering the blonde’s stomach with butterfly kisses. Yeosang whimpers, begging one of them to do anything that isn’t just to tease him, and Seonghwa nips at the smooth flesh of his hips. When his head bumps into Hongjoong’s, the two chuckle. It’s that sound that brings Yeosang back to reality, even if just for a second before Hongjoong is licking a clean stripe up the underside of his length. It is the sound of comfortable love. And it is everything Yeosang wants. </p><p>He lets the waves of pleasure pull him under. Between Seonghwa’s cautious touches and Hongjoong’s bobbing mouth, there isn’t much he can do to stave off the threat of reaching his high in record time. With any other couple, he would have probably been painfully embarrassed at how quickly he came. However, with the bright twinkle in the blue-haired’s eye as he pops off the head of his cock with an obscene pop and the loving circles Seonghwa rubs into his hip bones as he feels the tremors of his orgasm slow, there is no shame to be had. By the time he is able to regain control of his coherent thoughts, he has already been pulled into a tight embrace between the two. </p><hr/><p>****“What about you guys?” he asks quietly. “Don’t you want me to...you know?” Hongjoong had literally just swallowed his load, and yet, Yeosang couldn’t stop the heat from flooding his face again. They probably thought he was as bashful as Bambi. With a giggle, Seonghwa pushes his face into the crook of Yeosang’s neck. </p><p>“It wasn’t about us, Yeosang,” the blonde says, lips caressing the bruises that the younger knows will be visible. So much for hiding this endeavor from Wooyoung. “You’re stressed. We just wanted to help.”</p><p>“Plus,” Hongjoong mumbles, his head resting lightly on Yeosang’s chest; fingers intertwined with Seonghwa’s and folded on the new magician’s stomach. “I kind of already rode Hwa into oblivion last night, so I’m a little spent.” Both blondes choke at the admission. </p><p>“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa squeaks, burying his face further into Yeosang’s neck. “You can’t just say things like that without warning! It’s unbecoming.”</p><p>“Are you sure about that?” the blue-haired murmurs. “I’m pretty sure I came.” He yelps when Seonghwa lunges over to flick his nose. “The point is,” Hongjoong says quickly, “Hwa and I are fine. You giving us an opportunity to take your mind off of things is all we needed.” He presses a kiss to Yeosang’s lips before settling back on the man’s chest with a contented sigh. </p><p>And for the first time in his life, Yeosang doesn’t fear the first day of classes. Whether they are laced with a complete study of early English literature or the full-instruction manual of how to animate a glass horse, he wasn’t alone. In the middle of Ohio with only a handful of friends, he is less solitary than he has ever been. Soft smile gracing his lips, he slips beneath the realm of consciousness. A quick nap wouldn’t hurt. </p><p>In the end, it did hurt. Much more than expected, truly, and enough so that he stumbles into the orientation classroom with only three minutes to spare. Thank god for Seonghwa’s alarm, because he would have most certainly missed the entire first day otherwise. Surveying the lecture hall, his eyes land on the open seat between Yunho and Wooyoung. On their other sides, Mingi and San sit respectively. With a sigh, he slides into the empty chair. </p><p>“Where the hell did you go?” Wooyoung asks, his voice low. “We got up and you were missing.”</p><p>“What happened to breakfast?” Mingi mumbles, reaching across Yunho to flick Yeosang’s wrist dramatically. However, his gaze lands on the gauze that wraps the older’s hand. “Shit, were you at the infirmary?”</p><p>“Infirmary?” Wooyoung and San echo at the same time, focusing their attention on the medical bandage. </p><p>“What did you fucking do while we were sleeping?” San mutters, pulling Yeosang’s chair until the man is positioned between him and Wooyoung. Carefully, he inspects the ‘injury’ before dramatically taking a whiff of the blonde’s sweatshirt. “Did you hook up with someone?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “You smell like sex.”</p><p>“I smell like sweat,” Yeosang groans, yanking his hand away from the brunette. “I ran the entire way here.” He rolls his chair back to his portion of the desk. The last thing he needed was for the magician to find out about his earlier activities. He couldn’t handle Wooyoung finding out, let alone their other roommate. He would never hear the end of it.</p><p>Before anyone can push him further, the door to the classroom swings open. From the corridor, a tall brunette waltzes into the room. On his face, he wears a wide smile filled to the brim with lemondrops and honeydew. At first, Yeosang thinks that he is another student. However, he does not branch off to look for an empty seat. Instead, he moves to set his belongings right on top of the cherry-wood of the front podium. The professor.</p><p>“Good afternoon, everyone,” he says cheerfully, planting his palms onto the surface of the desk before him. “Welcome to your first week as fully-realized magicians in Utopia. My name is Kang Yuchan and I’ll be your guiding light for the next few weeks.” He throws in a wink for good measure before walking in front of the podium. “I’m only a visiting professor, however, I am trained in magical detection. Throughout the next month, I’ll be testing you for your discipline.” </p><p>The thought startles Yeosang. Being tested individually for their particular skill set was something he had expected, however, he had yet to develop an inkling of what his own might be. Having someone figure it out for him point-blank made his heart pound. It provided an air of certainty that he was unaccustomed to. It’s when Professor Kang begins to ramble about the syllabus that he tunes out entirely. Consider it a defense mechanism.</p><p>The creak of the classroom’s door, however, draws the attention of all seventy-five students. In the frame, a halo of red reflects the harsh yellow light of the lecture hall. <em> Choi Jongho </em>, his mind supplies frantically. His first reaction is to avoid eye contact entirely, especially as Kang makes some comment about the importance of being on time. However, it becomes increasingly obvious that dodging the redhead would not be a possible course of action. The only open seat is the one directly in front of Yeosang’s group. </p><p>Jongho doesn’t seem to notice him and he settles into the desk with a heavy breath. How could someone who was up so early be late? It’s a hypocritical question, considering his own experience, but still one that rises to the forefront of his mind like lightning. Even without the man’s gaze fixated on him, the blonde cannot help but feel the nervous energy buzzing through his limbs. </p><p>As Professor Kang calls class to a close, dismissing them from the room, Yeosang realizes that he did not hear a single word the magician said. <em> Incredible </em>. Before he can ask Wooyoung to give him the rundown, he feels the heavy weight of someone’s attention zeroing in on his presence. Jongho, a frown curving the expanse of his lips, narrows his eyes when Yeosang turns to look at him.</p><p>“Circle-boy,” he says. </p><p>“You know my name, Choi,” Yeosang grumbles. “I didn’t realize you were a first year.”</p><p>“Same to you,” Jongho says, glancing down at the blonde’s wrapped hand. “Got it treated?” he asks. Yeosang bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. It’s subtle, but the redhead notices the tension immediately. Instead of pushing further, he adds a quick, “I’m glad. That was a nasty burn.” At least he is observant. He packs up the notebook that sits discarded on his desk and turns to survey Yeosang’s group again. “Thanks for your help this morning. If I would have been on my own, I would have destroyed the one thing that is keeping me afloat.” Yeosang watches as Jongho’s gaze lands on both Yunho and Mingi. He bows slightly before exiting the room hastily. </p><p>“How do you know Jongho?” Yunho asks from his spot, still throwing things into his bag. </p><p>“We met outside the library. I stopped him from destroying a book.” He chooses to tell the truth. Why lie when there was nothing incriminating to be said there? He didn’t have to give every detail; only the ones that explained their meeting well-enough. “What about you two?” </p><p>Yunho doesn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he gnaws at the chapped skin of his bottom lip while he checks the first-year block’s schedule. With such a small class size, they would all have similar courses until they were separated by discipline. And then, with a strangled sigh, he stands up from his chair slowly.</p><p>“We went to high school together. He was best friends with my older brother.” If not for the word ‘was’, Yeosang would have considered it to be a regular situation where two high school students grew apart. However, something in the pink-haired boy’s expression twinges with unnatural sadness. It hits Yeosang like a train. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”</p><p>Yunho’s eyes widen comically as he gestures frantically. “No, it’s okay, really! You were bound to find out eventually, you know?” He fiddles awkwardly with the thread of his t-shirt’s hem. “They were on the same basketball team and even started a band together. Despite the two-year age gap, they both had the same personality. Reserved, but like a forest fire.” The group fidgets in their seats, unsure if they should stand and prepare to trek across campus or let Yunho continue. Evidently, Yunho makes that decision for them. “He drowned in the pond across from the library. It’s bottomless and enchanted to hell and back.” The same pond that Jongho sat in front of earlier. With a shiver running down his spine, Yeosang decides that some questions are better left unanswered. </p><p>
  <em>🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, moonbeams! Thanks for reading.</p><p>*** TLDR: Hongjoong and Seonghwa make good on their promise to take Yeosang's mind off of things. Yeosang realizes that he isn't opposed to being part of their relationship, however, he also doesn't tell them his feelings. ****</p><p>Follow me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji<br/>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>- Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. spiritus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW// Graphic Violence; Injury; Mentions of Death; Blackmailing ✧</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> “To capture a predator, you can't remain the prey. </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> You have to become an equal in every way. </em> </a>
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  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> So, look in the mirror and tell me, who do you see? </em> </a>
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  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> Is it still you? </em> </a>
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  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> Or is it me? </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> Become the beast. </em> </a>
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  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> We don't have to hide. </em> </a>
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  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> Do I terrify you? </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> Or do you feel alive?” </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"><b> <em>Become the Beast</em> </b> <em> - Karliene </em></a>
  </p>
  <hr/>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </em>
</p><p>      The first time it happens, he is sitting on Wooyoung’s bed. Their legs tangled in the sheets and his rose gold laptop shining in the dim moonlight, it was like the past. The place that magic never touched; where their minds were not filled with the dozen hand signs that took to lift a marble off of a desk. For a moment, they were teenagers again– watching movies and eating licorice like their life hinged on the tender red strings. And then, Wooyoung is pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. </p><p>      He thinks nothing of it, laughing it off as the way the younger had always been with him, and peels apart another gummy rope. It’s when Wooyoung does it again, this time his lips locking over Yeosang’s, that he realizes what his best friend is aiming for. The sweet sugar on Wooyoung’s tongue mingles with his own for the briefest of seconds before Yeosang comes back to his senses. Carefully, he presses his palm to the brunette’s chest and gives a slight shove. </p><p>Wooyoung backs off, eyes wide, and cocks his head to the side slightly. “Sorry,” he mumbles, focus not leaving the blonde. “I should have asked.” He leans against the wall, as far away from Yeosang as he can be, and seems to curl in on himself. Suddenly, the ghostly visage of a shrinking violet. </p><p>      “You should have,” Yeosang whispers, gnawing on the end of one of the thin licorice pieces. It broke off as he was peeling it. “We need to talk about this, Wooyoung.” He hates the way the words fall like a raindrop into a bucket nearing its fill. Wooyoung doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he watches the way the Russian princess spins through the memory of a distant December. The vivid lights of the scene splatter across the boy’s features like watercoloring spilling on a golden page. A twirling pink dress highlights the flush that spreads over Wooyoung’s cheeks. Yeosang can only imagine how red his own face is. </p><p>      “What is there to talk about?”</p><p>      “Us,” Yeosang says softly. “San. All of it.” He watches the way Wooyoung’s eyes flicker over to him, only for a breath, before they fall back on the screen. “We haven’t talked, really talked, since we got here.”</p><p>      “You’re always at the library,” Wooyoung bites back. He isn’t wrong, but there is uncertainty in the bitter tone. “How can I say anything to you if you fly out of here like a damn hummingbird, Yeo?”</p><p>      “How can we talk,” Yeosang stabs back, “if you always have San’s dick down your throat? Do you think I want to be in the room for that kind of shit?” Wooyoung makes a sharp noise, palm instantly covering a dark bruise San sucked onto his neck the night before. </p><p>      “It takes San’s mind off of shit. You could have told me it made you uncomfortable.”</p><p>      “It didn’t,” Yeosang utters, shocking even himself. “It didn’t until you tried to invite me to join you. What are you and San, Wooyoung?” Silence hits instantly. A glitch. When the younger doesn’t answer, Yeosang pushes him. “Fuck buddies? Boyfriends? Have you even asked him?” </p><p>      “No,” Wooyoung mutters, grabbing a pillow from the head of his bed. He holds the blue silk to his chest and pulls his knees up until the soft material is trapped against him. “He has a lot of shit going on up here,” Wooyoung points at his head with a frown. “Voices, thoughts that are too loud, the gamut. They can’t declare him part of the Psychic Discipline until the official sorting so sex staves off the noise for a bit. But no, we haven’t really talked about it.”</p><p>      “You should,” Yeosang says, glancing at San's empty desk. Their roommate had a meeting with a few Psychics he met in their class. Early networking on his behalf. “I love you, you know. I just can’t watch you keep avoiding your feelings forever.”</p><p>      “What about you?” Wooyoung finally asks. “Do you really want to give up what we have?” </p><p>      Yeosang stares at him, eyes wide and mouth floundering, before he pinches the bridge of his own nose. “What do we have, Woo?” He picks at the remainder of the licorice string in his hand. “We have sex sometimes when we’re stressed. If San is offering that to you in a more permanent fashion, why would you need to keep me around?” </p><p>      What Yeosang doesn’t expect is the way Wooyoung gasps and recoils further. “What the fuck do you mean? You’re my other half, Yeosang. This isn’t a matter of ‘keeping you around’.” He looks near tears. Enough so, that it takes everything the blonde has within himself not to pull him into a tight embrace. “I just want you to be happy. I thought what we were doing made you happy.”</p><p>      “It makes me happy, Wooyoung,” he says, not looking at the other man. He cannot handle seeing a hopeful expression. “It also makes me very, very sad. It’s like suffocating my heart over and over. It beats so fast, but hurts so badly, that I can’t breathe.” His fingers work at the loose thread of his pajama pants. A hole had been worn right into the bottom of the leg; where the fabric dragged on the ground. “I don’t want to be in pain anymore.”</p><p>      Wooyoung doesn’t say anything. The moon above them watches carefully, twinkling through the atmosphere, and her stars wink when Yeosang glances toward them. There was a saying once, that Wooyoung’s mother used to tell them, about the importance of speaking to the sky seven times a day. If you knew how big the universe was, there was so much more to worry about than a simple test or a breakup. There was so much more at play. </p><p>      Maybe, that’s why his chest feels lighter when he meets the celestial gaze through their tiny dorm window. In another two weeks, this room would no longer be theirs. They would be moved into their Disciplines’ residentials. For now though, this particular view was his corner of the galaxy. The song’s melody filters out as the princess slumps onto the floor in a graceful, yellow heap. And slowly, Wooyoung inches his hand toward Yeosang’s. Stretching for what seems like lightyears, his pinky wraps carefully around the blonde’s. </p><p>      The second time it happens, Yeosang is sitting at his desk. Having taken Wooyoung’s words to heart, he was trying to stick around the dorm more often. Yet, his sudden reappearance in their room hardly seemed to change the atmosphere between the members of the triple. Wooyoung, doing laundry in the commons, was nowhere to be seen when San came back from an afternoon meeting. </p><p>      Yeosang had been listening to soft music while memorizing the appropriate signals to pull water from the tap. It was an intricate string of a ‘W’ pressed to his lips, tapped down onto a horizontal peace sign, and then dipped under the latter. It seemed as though it was meant to mimic a waterfall. Truly, the spell was not difficult. However, getting the flow to match the imagery was nearly impossible with his mind cluttered by a million other things.</p><p>      It’s no surprise that San wrapping his arms around the blonde’s shoulders nearly sends him to the mood. He jumps out of his seat, whirling on the younger, and is greeted by a cat-like grin. San throws his hands up as a sign of surrender and twirls to his bed dramatically. With a sigh, Yeosang rips his earbuds out, cutting off the beginning of Mozart’s “Lacrimosa”. </p><p>      “Do you have to sneak up on me?”</p><p>      “I waved when I came in,” San says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “You were focused so I didn’t want to say anything at first. Why? Do you not like hugs?”</p><p>      “Not particularly,” Yeosang grumbles, slumping back into his chair. San looks at him from beneath his wavy bangs. Dark eyes full of suspicion, he uses his elbows to prop himself up. “Why are you staring at me like that?” Yeosang asks.</p><p>      “You’re the only person whose thoughts don’t pingpong around in my head. I can’t read you,” San mumbles. “Anyways, you let Wooyoung hug you all of the time.”</p><p>      “Wooyoung,” the blonde says, “is my best friend. You and I hardly know each other.”</p><p>      San frowns and pushes his hair from his face. It showcases the sharp edges of his cheeks and the curve of his jawline. For a moment, Yeosang forgets what they’re talking about, distracted by the clean slit San must have recently cut into his eyebrow. The same one that arches as he processes Yeosang’s words. </p><p>      “You let Yunho do it too. And Hongjoong. And Seonghwa.” The pout is obvious in his tone. It’s like a child who just had their first ice cream cone ripped from their tiny, prying hands. “Why am I not allowed to?”</p><p>      Yeosang sucks in a sharp breath, glancing down at the papers that scatter his desk. Why was San not allowed to? He couldn’t just come out and say that he was jealous of the brunette. Instead, he focuses his attention on the deep, star-filled gaze that leeches off his own.</p><p>      “I don’t like sharing.” It’s a lie. A complete and total lie, especially given his blossoming relationship with Seonghwa and Hongjoong, but it’s enough of one to see San draw a gasp. Before he can push further, Yeosang sticks his earbuds back in and lets the music carry him elsewhere. </p><p>      The third and final time it happens, Yeosang blames entirely on himself. There had been so many opportunities for him to come out with the truth– to tell Wooyoung about Hongjoong and Seonghwa. While the older two were okay with staying under the radar, it was obvious that every passing day was a strain on their emotions. It all came to light the afternoon Hongjoong asked him a simple favor. </p><p>      He had stopped by the Physical Kids’ cottage for lunch. It was a peaceful, sunny day and a campus relaxation holiday. The breeze danced along their fingertips as they sat together on a blanket, eating whatever small sandwiches Seonghwa had prepared. His head resting in Seonghwa’s lap, the eldest ran his fingers through the soft strands of blonde that shone like liquid gold in the warm rays. Hongjoong, smiling and laying his own mop of blue on Yeosang’s stomach, brought up the fatal question then.</p><p>      “Go on a date with me?” he asked Yeosang, palm moving up just enough to cup the younger’s cheek. “I want to see a movie, but Seonghwa doesn’t like theaters.” It was at that moment, with a dragonfly flitting through his peripheral, that the blonde realized just how far he had landed himself. Like the insect’s wings, his heart flutters a mile a minute. The pink on Hongjoong’s nose rosen and his skin kissed by ambrosia, he was the picture of innocence, yet anything but. And how could Yeosang say no?</p><p>      He smiles and presses a featherlight kiss to the soft skin of Hongjoong’s delicate palm. “Of course,” he whispers, for once not ashamed of the melody his own voice creates. “When do you want to go?” The way Hongjoong’s face lit up like the stars would never leave his mind. </p><p>      The answer had been immediately. Without waiting even a second, Hongjoong sprinted off to get ready, leaving Yeosang and Seonghwa to finish lunch alone. The older blonde, finding his blue-haired boyfriend’s antics adorable, couldn’t stop smothering Yeosang with kisses. His cheeks, his eyelids, and even his lips. And not once did Yeosang find the affection aversive. Rather, he grinned into every embrace like it was their last. </p><p>      Content with the way light bounces off of Yeosang’s swollen, red lips, Seonghwa lets him leave to get ready. And it was only then, as Yeosang opened the door to his empty room, that he realized how many steps he had taken off of the cartoon cliff. He had agreed to go on a date with a man who was clearly very interested in him; one who he had never given an answer. While his own heart longed desperately to hold onto the tendrils of Wooyoung’s presence, his mind drove them out like mice from a barren warehouse. Wooyoung, his first love and closest friend, had found someone to hold his hand as they strolled through town. He had found another soul to share his time with. And Yeosang knew that the hourglass of physicality between them had run out of sand. </p><p>      He bites back the tears as he pulls together something suitable for the date. A red set of corduroy overalls rolled up at the bottoms, thinly striped white and grey t-shirt, red beanie, and his white Doc Martens. It was simple, but still put-together enough that it would be a noticeable change from his usually casual attire. Shooting his chat with the dormmates a quick message, he makes sure that they do not assume he’s been kidnapped. The chat had been Mingi’s idea. It was a way to keep tabs on all five of the floor-members without having to be overbearing. Who was in the rooms, when they were going to be away, and who wanted to hang out. It was easy, effortless, and overall appreciated when San and Wooyoung started sending warnings to the neighbors, since silencing charms were still a step higher than they were magically capable.</p><p>      And then, it’s a message from Seonghwa.</p><p><b>      From</b> <b> <em> Mars Stars:</em> </b></p><p>
  <em>     You ready? (: </em>
</p><p><b>      To</b> <b> <em> Mars Stars:</em> </b></p><p>
  <em>     yep !  </em>
</p><p>      He sends back, heart picking up the pace once again. Suddenly, a crack sounds through the room and Hongjoong is popping into existence. His blue-hair tousles slightly as he jumps through the portal. From the other side, still back at the cottage, Seonghwa grins and gives him a thumbs up before the connection dissipates. And then, it’s just the two of them in his dorm room. </p><p>      Before him stands the most exquisite spirit Yeosang has ever seen. Hongjoong’s jeans are light wash and embroidered with dozens of yellow traditional suns, moons, and stars. His shirt is a simple white tee with a block graphic of Van Gogh’s <em> Starry Night </em>emblazoned across the chest. A beige beret cradles his blue strands tenderly. His mustard yellow knit cardigan embraces his dainty frame like a hug from the heavens. Even his white converse, covered with nearly a hundred tiny doodles, are like a celestial awakening to the blonde. With a smile, Hongjoong takes a step forward and pushes the clear acrylic glasses that rest on his nose up slightly.</p><p>      It would be an understatement to say that Yeosang’s breath has been stolen.</p><p>      “You look adorable,” Hongjoong says, closing the gap between them. “Oh my god, you really are too cute.” He embellishes the statement by poking Yeosang’s cheeks in like sponge cake. </p><p>      “Hyung,” Yeosang whines, the blush that inches down his neck comparable to the red of his overalls. When the older releases him, he can’t fight the smile that plays on his own lips. “You’re incredible,” he says quietly, eyes trailing along Hongjoong’s body again. The blue-haired makes a noise in the back of his throat, something between a squeak and a cough, and glances at the floor. “I’m serious. You look like a painting come to life.” Yeosang fights the urge to pull the other closer by his waist. They weren’t at that point yet. Not if he was going to do this the right way.</p><p>      “You’re not uncomfortable that I asked you to come out with me, are you?” Hongjoong asks as he ports them into an Akron alleyway. It was better to remain as hidden as possible and not risk any serious challenges for a simple movie. Yeosang shakes his head as they exit the backway. </p><p>      “Of course not,” he says, “but thank you for worrying. Seonghwa isn’t upset that we’re going on a date without him, is he?”</p><p>      “Hwa?” Hongjoong’s eyebrow raises just slightly. “No, he actually encouraged me to take you out first. He said that he’ll have his chance later on.” They were taking it slow too, then. Somehow, the thought fizzes in Yeosang’s chest like Mentos plopped in soda. Warm and bubbly, he chuckles. The sound earns a side glance from Hongjoong. </p><p>      “So, what movie are you subjecting me to?” he asks. Hongjoong only grins back and motions over the design on his shirt wildly, as though that answers the question on its own. When the older buys the tickets, however, he realizes that it truly did. </p><p><em>     Loving Vincent </em> was every bit as emotional as the students at his school had made it seem in 2017. And by the way the hot tears roll down his cheeks, he was more human than he originally thought. Even Hongjoong, who cradles him in his arms like a lost child, cannot find the words to make any portion of the situation feel less sentimental.  He sniffles and sobs into Yeosang’s hair as they kick their legs on a park bench. </p><p>      “That one really hurt,” Hongjoong whispers, his voice thick and damp. “I’m getting your cute shirt all wet.”</p><p>      “It’s okay,” Yeosang says. “We should head back to campus though. Seonghwa might think we got lost in the middle of nowhere.”</p><p>      “Would you believe me,” the blue-haired says, brushing away a stray tear that slides down the younger’s cheek, “if I said that Akron is one of Ohio’s biggest cities?”</p><p>      Yeosang laughs just as Hongjoong presses a green bottomed capsule into his palm. Inside, a metal band glitters wildly. He stares at it through the clear top, rolling it this way and that, before glancing back to the man beside him. Lifting a single eyebrow, he produces a low, confused grunt.</p><p>      “Open it,” Hongjoong instructs, folding his hands and setting his chin on top. “I got it out of one of those coin machines in the arcade when you went to the bathroom.”</p><p>      “The arcade where the kid pissed on the floor not only three minutes after we walked in?” Hongjoong smacks him playfully and watches him as he pops the small container open. A small, plastic wrapped ring tumbles out. As Yeosang opens the cheap baggie that it is housed in, his heart flips over itself like a trampoline-bound gymnast. The silver band is intricate, carved with a dozen small grooves, and topped with a quarter-sized butterfly. It’s wings are detailed and brilliant. Eyes oddly teary, he covers his mouth to stop himself from letting out a soft gasp.</p><p>      Hongjoong holds up his hand, wiggling his fingers dramatically, and Yeosang catches the familiarly designed flash like a shooting star. “We match,” he says with a grin. “I got one for Hwa too, since I knew he would pitch a fit if we didn’t include him.” That same feeling of fizzy-drink builds in his chest. It bubbles and brews like a boiling cauldron. And then, it overflows. </p><p>      He doesn’t register pulling Hongjoong closer until their lips are pressed together. The salt from the buttered popcorn burns the chapped bits of his skin, for just a second, before the older’s tongue is immediately licking at them. The ticklish pressure soothes the sharp pain, even after Hongjoong is pulling away. With a blinding smile, he leans his forehead against Yeosang’s. </p><p>      "That was rare,” he mumbles, molasses gaze not breaking from the blonde’s. “You never initiate kisses.”</p><p>      “You never give me jewelry.” The quip makes Hongjoong burst into saccharine tones; the twinkling of a distant bell and the memory of a melody long since unheard. It engraves itself into Yeosang’s heart like a wood burned design on bare mahogany. “Thank you,” he breathes. </p><p>      “Don’t thank me, you dork. It was seventy-five cents,” Hongjoong says. “You’re worth at least a dollar.” </p><p>      Hongjoong has the bright idea to portal them directly into Yeosang’s dorm room. While the younger wanted nothing more than to see Seonghwa after the date, to confirm that everything was alright– that they really could find happiness between the three of them– he was freezing. A light t-shirt was not appropriate for the approaching autumn. </p><p>      It’s when he is thumbing through his wardrobe, trying to pick out some kind of jacket or hoodie, that Hongjoong is pressing himself against his back. At first, he just stands there, hands intertwining over Yeosang’s stomach. But then, he begins to mouth at the sensitive skin of the younger’s throat. </p><p>      “Neck kisses,” Hongjoong breathes, hot whispers against the downy blonde hair at Yeosang’s nape. The boy shivers in the older’s embrace. “I told you that you have a thing for them.” As the words tumble out, the door to the room flies open. Hongjoong doesn’t even have time to skitter backward by the time they have a large audience. </p><p>      Wooyoung, San, Yunho, and Mingi stand in the threshold. For a second, no one speaks. Hongjoong, finally able to put a decent amount of space between them, teeters between the balls of his feet. Yeosang can hardly turn around. He knows his face is flushed– that he looks thoroughly wrecked even from just a little bit of innocent kissing. And he knows that Wooyoung is watching. </p><p>      When he does manage to adjust, the brunette’s stare is not the first he meets. Rather, his best friend is burning holes into the wooden planks of their floor. The one who draws his direct attention is San. And for once, there is no trace of lightheartedness on the man’s face. His signature dimples are nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looks absolutely furious. </p><p>      “Are we interrupting something?” San asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought you were going out tonight, Yeosang.” The question flits through the air like a lead missile. For a moment, Yeosang pictures the words on the page of a novel. They would one-hundred percent be italicized. </p><p>      “We got back early,” the blonde says, tugging a Thrasher hoodie over his outfit. Fashion be damned– he was chilly. “You guys know Hongjoong,” he adds, gesturing at the older man.</p><p>      “We do,” San says with a frown. “We also know his boyfriend, Seonghwa. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” For a moment, no one breathes. A glass could shatter in the center of the room and they wouldn’t flinch; wouldn’t scream.</p><p>      “It might surprise you,” Hongjoong bites out, suddenly taking a step toward Yeosang. “But some couples talk things out. Seonghwa approves of this.” The older pulls Yeosang toward his hip by his waist. The blonde doesn’t fight it, he can’t. Not while he is fighting back the urge to cry for the second time that day. “Actually, it was our boyfriend’s idea that we go on a date tonight.”</p><p>      “Your boyfriend?” Wooyoung speaks for the first time. It’s like hearing the first droplets of rain hit the pavement before a downpour. “When did you start dating?” They hadn’t. Not officially. However, it was the next step that Yeosang was willing to take in the right direction. Or, at least, what he hoped would be.</p><p>      “Today,” Yeosang whispers, intertwining his fingers with Hongjoong’s. “We’ve been talking about it since the party opening weekend.” He doesn’t miss the way Wooyoung’s eyes linger on the connection. </p><p>      Yunho sighs. “I knew about it,” he says to the group, crossing the room in a few long strides. “I was there when Hongjoong brought it up. Drunk Seonghwa was also very interested in Yeosang’s eyelashes while I was putting him to bed.” Once he reaches the two, he places a hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “If you or Hwa hurt him, I will make good on the silencing charms that Mingi and I have enabled. They won’t find your body.”</p><p>      Hongjoong pales at the statement and gulps loudly. Yeosang, forcing a distant smile, whispers a thank you. There was no sense in telling the tall guard-dog to stand down. Yunho had more loyalty flowing through his veins than even a king’s most accomplished knight. </p><p>      “And if any of you guys have a problem with it,” Yunho turns the other three men lingering in the door awkwardly. “The same applies to you.” Mingi shrugs and offers a sheepish smile. </p><p>      “I don’t have a single issue with it,” he chuckles, flopping onto the floor. “I was more concerned whether or not Hongjoong’s dick was up Yeosang’s ass when we walked in.” </p><p>      Yeosang screeches in horror. “I’m wearing overalls!”</p><p>      “Are the logistics your biggest concern with anything he just said?” Hongjoong yells back, flailing wildly. His cheeks flame to match the color of San’s salmon-toned t-shirt. Wooyoung’s laugh cuts through the space like a knife. It is a sound that makes Yeosang’s neck nearly snap with the force of trying to meet the man’s eyes.</p><p>      Wooyoung is doubled over, hands on his knees, and giggling like a maniac. He doesn’t stop to breathe, even when the pitch becomes squeaky and unpleasant. It is entirely a Wooyoung thing to do. And yet, something in Yeosang’s heart rips into shreds. </p><p>      “You didn’t even tell me there was one dude interested in you,” the brunette wheezes. “There are two? And they’re our hot-as-hell upperclassmen?” When he finally looks up, his face is pink. Tears sit stationary in the corners of his eyes, but do not flow over. It is impossible to tell if they’re from laughter or something more. What more could there be? </p><p>      “Sorry,” Yeosang mumbles, breathing uneven. Hongjoong notices it almost instantly. Carefully, he presses a kiss to the blonde’s temple. He leans into the touch like a moth to the flame, but his attention does not leave his best friend’s trembling form. Finally, San sighs. </p><p>      “Where’s your other boyfriend, then? We’re going to marathon <em> Pirates of the Caribbean. </em>” It’s as close to a peace offering as they might get. So for now, he accepts it willingly. With a smile, Yeosang drums his fingers along the back of Hongjoong’s hand. </p><p>      “Invite him,” he says. “I could use one of his hugs.”</p><p>      “What about one of mine?” Wooyoung asks, approaching slowly. When Yeosang giggles, the two slam together like a Newton’s cradle. Embraced by the light and cradled by the moon, it is the third and final time the awkward tightrope of moving on has to be tip-toed. For now, they were safe.</p><p>      Hours later, as he walks with both of his lovers holding his hands like red strings of fate, he wonders what it feels like to fly. It has to be similar to this. Like the clouds are far beneath one’s toes and the air is the only thing pushing you to and from. He doesn’t consider himself to be a sentimental person. However, as Seonghwa rambles about an alternate universe he made once where Jack Sparrow was the main character of The Treasure Key, Yeosang might be a little bit emotional. He doesn’t know how long it would last; the way he was clinging to every memory that the three of them had together. For now, though, it was the only thing letting his heart race among the waves of his thoughts. </p><p>      When he turns on his heel after both take their sweet time pressing kisses to his cheeks outside of the Physical Kids cottage, the last person he expects the see is a particular red haired cherub. Choi Jongho, frazzled beyond belief, gawks at him like he just set the library on fire. Possibly in his head, Yeosang was the sole destroyer of the Library of Alexandria. With a sigh, the blonde runs a hand through his hair.</p><p>      “Evening, Jongho.”</p><p>      “Is it supposed to be a secret that you’re dating Seonghwa and Hongjoong hyungs?” The younger asks with a petulant look. “I thought you were dating San and Wooyoung.” The comment catches Yeosang off guard. Before he can say anything about it, though, the boy is tugging him down the sidewalk quickly. </p><p>      “Where the hell are we going?” Yeosang asks, eyes not straying from the path in front of them. “I have class tomorrow. Hell, you have class tomorrow.”</p><p>      “I need your help,” Jongho mumbles. When Yeosang tries to worm his way out of it, Jongho drops to his knees in an entirely uncharacteristic manner. “Hyung, please. You’re the only person who can help me. There is a reason that you were given that mark, I know it.”</p><p>      “The transmutation circle?” Yeosang asks. The scar on his palm burns with the wrath of a thousand suns. “Why would you need that?”</p><p>      Just before Jongho speaks, the blonde remembers Yunho’s words. The youngest had lost his closest friend. With fear chilling over his heart, he gasps. The redhead stares back at him, desperation clouding his decisions, and brings out the threat before Yeosang even has a moment to decline. </p><p>      “Human transmutation is magic’s biggest taboo,” he says, grabbing Yeosang’s wrapped hand. “What would Eden say if he found out one of his mundane recruits was harboring a connection to such a crime? Do you really think they would let you stay here?” </p><p>      He throws Yeosang’s wrist down, letting it bounce off of the older’s thigh aggressively. If he wouldn’t have been in such a state of shock, he would have yelped. Screamed. Begged for Hongjoong or Seonghwa to come back out of the cottage and rescue him. Instead, he just dumbly swallows and nods slowly.</p><p>      “If you don’t help me, I’ll go straight to Eden and tell him that you tried the ritual. There’s no proof you’re innocent.” Despite the way he speaks, of blackmail through bared fangs, Jongho doesn’t seem like a bad kid. He’s tired and lonely. And Yeosang knows that he can’t risk the one place that gave him a home. The place that gave him Wooyoung and San. Yunho and Mingi. Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Magic. A purpose.</p><p>      “I’ll do it.” </p><p>      Three nights later, the night air brushes over them as they wander through the campus streets. It was that afternoon in their orientation class that Jongho turned to him after the lecture. With just a look, Yeosang knew. Jongho had threatened him, that much he was able to acknowledge, but the idea that the boy would actually go through with the blackmail attempt alarmed him. He was hardly older than the boy, but all he could see within the redhead’s intense stare was the desire to bring back something that was long gone. Someone. </p><p>      “You don’t have to do this, Jongho,” he whispers, a ditch effort to save them both. “I’ve never cast a spell this large. I’m not from a family of magicians. For fuck’s sake, dude, I didn’t even know magic existed until a few weeks ago.” He feels like glass. </p><p>      Jongho doesn’t say anything. He continues to walk down the stone paths leading to the lecture hall where they had Kang’s class. Every step resonates in Yeosang’s bones. Subtle vibrations powered by the fear that danced within his veins. It’s when a painfully familiar voice breaks through the silence that Yeosang nearly bites through his own tongue. The sharp taste of iron that pools in his mouth is enough to reassure him that he most certainly made a dent in the organ.</p><p>      “Yeosang?” Seonghwa calls across the courtyard. Whirling around, Jongho and Yeosang have a moment of indescribable dread. From the shadows, dimly lit by the streetlamp, Hongjoong appears at his boyfriend’s side. “Sangie, what are you doing out here? I thought you said you had homework.” Seonghwa continues, taking a step toward him. </p><p>      Glancing at Jongho, Yeosang teeters between sprinting toward his boyfriends and barreling in the opposite direction with the redhead in tow. His hands tremble with every breath, every move that the older two approach them with. He struggles, trying to think of an excuse quickly, but flounders halfway. Instead, he throws up his hand in a ‘please don’t’ gesture. Seonghwa frowns, but stills. </p><p>      “It’s a partner project for Professor Kang.” The lie tastes like bitter absinthe on his tongue. It burns coming up just as it would going down. Maybe his breath would smell like anise too if someone got too close. “I meant to tell you guys earlier, but it slipped my mind.”</p><p>      Before Seonghwa can brush it off and accept the answer, their lover is in front of Yeosang. His narrowed eyes flash dangerously as he glances between Jongho and the blonde. “Why are you lying to us right now, baby?” The words roll off of Hongjoong’s tongue like a sultry song, but Yeosang knows better than to lull into it. “You know, I don’t like it when people lie to me. Especially not one of the two people I care about,” he says.</p><p>      “I’m sorry,” Yeosang can’t stop himself from saying. It’s like the apology is being tugged from his lips by an invisible thread. He feels it then, the dull buzz of magic as it clouds his thoughts. A truth spell. He’s being charmed like a fucking snake. “Hongjoong, stop,” he murmurs, praying that the alarm does not leak into his words. He should be pissed, but instead, he is more afraid than anything else. </p><p>      The older startles slightly, mouth opening just an inch, before his jaw snaps shut. And then, it’s a waterfall of apologies. “Oh my god, Yeo, I’m so sorry. Fuck, I don’t know what came over me.” Seonghwa, hearing the way their blue-haired lover panics, is at their side in a moment. </p><p>      “Did you just truth serum our boyfriend?” Seonghwa asks, his voice deep and slow. “Please, for the love of the God’s above, tell me you didn’t.” Hongjoong squeaks out some kind of garbled response. In seconds, Seonghwa has him wrapped against his chest and Yeosang is pulled into the embrace with his other arm. “Are you alright, Yeosang?” </p><p>      The blonde nods carefully, still processing what had happened. Hongjoong was a Physical student, and yet, he must have had decently high Psychic abilities to be able to conjure a mind control spell in any capacity. Seonghwa presses a kiss to his forehead. Behind them, Jongho clears his throat. </p><p>      “I don’t mean to interrupt you, but Yeosang, we need to do the ritual.”</p><p>      Before he can pull out of Seonghwa’s hold, the eldest is turning on the youngest with a sharp glare. “We were students in Kang’s class once,” he says, letting go of his partners gently. “How about we come help? It might be nice if you guys get stuck.”</p><p>      Jongho has the audacity to stick out his lower lip in a dramatic pout. No matter how cute the little shit looks doing it, Yeosang knows that he won’t pull anything over the older magicians. Not with Hongjoong riled up and Seonghwa mimicking a very protective dragon. Still, the redhead tries his luck.</p><p>      “That won’t be necessary. I’m from a long line of–”</p><p>      “I think it is,” Seonghwa bites, cocking his head. The gesture screams ‘<em> try again </em>’. Jongho squares his shoulders as though prepared to start a fight. For a moment, Yeosang considers letting him. What was a young magician against two trained in their specific disciplines?</p><p>      And then, Jongho sighs. “Fine,” he says. “You win. Come with us and say absolutely nothing.” He turns on his heel and marches in the direction of the lecture hall again. </p><p>      When they walk into the room, Jongho busies himself by laying out the materials for the ritual from deep within the reaches of his leather satchel. Step by step, Yeosang watches the boy create a larger scale version of the spell he had been attempting on the day they met. Bit by bit, Jongho transmutes nearly a dozen pans, tubs, and jars out of what feels like thin air. Drawing in a sharp breath, Yeosang leans forward. </p><p>      “Where are you getting those? You can’t just create new matter.”</p><p>      “Borrowing them from the stockroom,” Jongho says snappily. “I didn’t think you or your entourage would want to help me carry them.”</p><p>      “We,” Hongjoong barks, “are his boyfriends. And we’re older than you, twerp, so don’t forget the formalities.” Instead of amending his statement, Jongho sticks his tongue out. It takes nearly all of Seonghwa’s limbs to keep the fiery ball of blue from trying to throttle the youngest. </p><p>      Yeosang takes the time to crawl over to the grimoire that Jongho seems to be referring to. On its yellowing parchment, a red pen had scrawled hundreds of terms in chicken scratch. He cocks his head this way and that, trying to decipher even a word, when the realization hits him. It’s a recipe.</p><p>
  <em>     “35 [L] 🜄  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     20 [kg] carbon </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     4 [L] ammonia </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     1.5 [kg] 🝁 </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     800 [g] phosphorous  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     250 [g] 🜔  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     100 [g] saltpeter </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     80 [g] 🜍 </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     7.5 [g] fluorine </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     5 [g]  🜜  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     3 [g] silicon </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     15 other trace elements” </em>
</p><p>      “Are you planning on baking?” Hongjoong says, reading over his shoulder. “I don’t remember ever using a spell like this.”</p><p>      “It’s human transmutation,” a new voice says from the doorway. A painfully familiar one that pulls Yeosang’s attention like a full orchestra in the middle of Central Park. “Fucking hell, what do you think you’re doing?” San growls, stalking towards Jongho. “Funny trick to play on God, don’t you think?” </p><p>      “San?” Yeosang asks. When the brunette’s eyes lock onto him, they soften significantly. Within seconds, the man is changing course and kneeling beside him. </p><p>      “Yeo, what happened? Why are you all here?” </p><p>      “It’s a party, isn’t it?” Jongho asks, leaning against the front desk. “Want to invite Wooyoung, Yunho, and Mingi? Get the whole gang out here to watch us ignore every magical rule possible?” </p><p>      When the youngest speaks, San bristles. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”</p><p>      “Why are you here?” Jongho asks lowly.</p><p>      “Something told me to come out here. It begged me like a fucking Banshee. It only shut up when I walked through the door. Now that I’m here, I have a good idea why.” San turns to Yeosang and grabs his upper arm. “We’re going home.”</p><p>      “I can’t,” Yeosang says, shrugging off San’s touch. “I’m the one who has to perform it.” Behind him, Seonghwa gasps. San only stares back at him, dark eyes filled with something other than stars. Fear. Irritation. </p><p>      “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hongjoong yells, making Yeosang face him. “You can’t be serious. That’s grounds to get you kicked out of magical society permanently.” The older’s gaze rakes over his face once. Twice. A third time looking for anything that says his lover is kidding. </p><p>      “I’m sorry, hyung.” He glances to Jongho’s working figure. “He’s desperate. He said he would turn me in to Eden if I said no. I can’t lose everything.”</p><p>      “You’re going to lose everything this way, you fucking dumbass,” Hongjoong says, forcing Yeosang to meet his eyes. “Just explain it all to Eden. The mark. The dream. He can’t do anything to you if you just tell him, baby,” the blue-haired says in a rush. “Please.”</p><p>      “Hongjoong,” Yeosang says, “I can’t just leave him. If this is what it takes to help someone, even just a little bit, then maybe it would be worth it.” The older reaches for his hand, wrapping it carefully in his own, and peels the gauze off of the scarred transmutation circle. Hongjoong lifts the soft skin to his lips and presses a featherlight kiss to it. Seongwha slides over and wraps his arms around Yeosang’s waist, effectively tugging him into his lap. </p><p>      “We can’t stop you,” Seonghwa says against the younger’s ear. “But we can sit in here and make sure you don’t get yourself killed.” The softness in his tone blankets Yeosang like a summer’s day. “You are never going to be alone again.”</p><p>      Despite the situation, the blonde leans into the affection. His eyes drift closed, for a moment, but when he opens them, he’s met with San’s bizarre expression. Like a veil, it flickers over his features. His lips pursed and brows drawn tight, it isn’t one that Yeosang sees on the boy’s face often. Longing mixed with a hint of confusion. Yeosang’s interactions with his own partners evidently makes his roommate uncomfortable. It had been obvious since the night of Hongjoong and his date, but to see it still affect San makes his heart do a somersault in his chest and slam painfully against his ribcage.</p><p>      “Are you ready?” Jongho asks, eyes not leaving the intricate chalk lines that he drew on the floor. This would be impossible to clean up; even with magic. Sighing, Yeosang wriggles out of the eldest’s hold. </p><p>      “As I’ll ever be,” Yeosang bites back. </p><p>      “Follow my signage,” Jongho says, curling his hands into dual fists. He then positions his middle and index fingers as though they were forming half of the ASL sign for ‘house’. Then, he drops his middle fingers down to make a diamond shape between his fists. The younger finally meets his eyes, silently signaling for him to follow suit. The ritual continues in the same follow-the-leader style until the ring of black, purple, and silver candles catch flame in a counter-clockwise motion. There was no turning back now that the spell was underway. </p><p>      From the sidelines, he watches the other three cringe with every gesture. Their eyes wide and flickering in the dim light, they hardly seem human. They are simply brushstrokes in a massive, picturesque movie. <em> Loving Vincent, </em> but the horror rendition. Just as his mind drifts to the joke of ‘ <em> Hating Yeosang </em>’, Jongho barks at him to focus.</p><p>      “You’re getting sloppy,” he says, staring at Yeosang’s chunky signs. “If this all goes to shit–”</p><p>      “Keep yelling at me, bastard, see how far that gets us!” Yeosang snaps, glaring at the younger magician. Jongho doesn’t respond. Instead, his eyes flicker to the three mirrors that he has set up in triangular points around the circle. The wind picks up steadily, warm and breezy, and Yeosang basks in it for a moment. Until suddenly, it hits him. </p><p>      “Why is there wind?” he calls to the redhead. Jongho’s expression is a blank slate of panic. “Jongho, what the fuck is going on?” </p><p>      “I don’t know!” Jongho bellows, trying to steady himself as the gusts threaten to knock him off balance. “Get to the center of the circle,” he commands, following his own request. “We’ll close the perimeter. There’s too much magic and it’s spread too thin.” As Yeosang starts to move forward, Hongjoong screams out a warning. It comes a second too late. </p><p>      The concentration of magical energy overpowers the small center within seconds. In a flash of blue, white, and glass, every mirror shatters like a firework. Screaming, Yeosang feels his body get thrown backward before it collides with the first row of desks. Jongho, however, is not as lucky. San is the first to let out a gut wrenching cry. </p><p>      “Fuck! Fuck, he’s hurt,” the Psychic cries as the wind dies down. “Oh fuck, there’s so much blood. Someone send off a flare, we need to contact the Healers.” </p><p>      “God,” Seonghwa groans, crawling to the heap Yeosang can only blurrily assume is Jongho. “Oh, shit.” When the scene finally comes into focus, all Yeosang can see is blood. One of the mirrors collapsed during the blast. It’s wooden frame, destroyed beyond repair, was sticking in various directions like branches of a tree. The concern, however, stemmed from the three that punctured Jongho’s soft body. </p><p>      One had been pushed entirely through his right arm, pinning him to the shattered remains of the circle. Another was through his left leg, just above the knee. And the final presented a more dangerous option. It’s splintering ends soaking crimson, a beacon on the night’s horizon, poked through his stomach about eight inches into the air. Yeosang couldn’t even fathom how far the object was piercing through the rest of him.</p><p>      “Oh god,” he whispers, grabbing Hongjoong’s hand. Seonghwa presses his palms to the bloody body and casts some quick spell that drags a glowing green ray down the injuries. The Healer sighs, removing one palm just long enough to push his wavy bangs back from his face. He doesn’t even notice the way his blonde strands turn orange as they mingle with blood he smears on them. He wouldn’t notice that now. </p><p>      But for some reason, it’s the only thing that Yeosang can focus on. The fucking tinted bits of his boyfriend’s hair. The way he wanted the color to disappear before it made his skin crawl any more. He can’t look at the child who begs for his life. When San cradles Jongho’s face, he sees something there. A softness that was rare in the world. A white lily opening up for the first time. And then, San disappears. </p><p>      “Where–”</p><p>      “He can teleport,” Yeosang mumbles numbly. “He went to contact the infirmary.” He had to have. It was San, after all. The boy who could smile in a way that made kittens fall asleep. Not even a breath later, the brunette is back with another Healer in tow. This one, Yeosang doesn’t recognize. It takes all he has to focus on the brunette’s name tag attached to his scrubs, ‘Lee Keonhee’. </p><p>      It feels like an eternity before the other Healers show up. Before they pronounce Jongho dead on the scene. Before everything seems to spin to a stop. A merry go round that had a run-in with a power outage. And then, Yeosang is moving before anyone can stop him. </p><p>      He slides across the floor and casts the same spell signage that Jongho had told him to use. Within seconds, his own hands glow with that irritating blue and white light. And then, he is slamming his palms onto the youngest’s still-warm corpse– transmutation circle positioned directly over Jongho’s heart. For a second, he thinks it worked, but then everything goes stark white. </p><p>      In front of him, a tall, stone arch raises from the ground. Wrapped in ivy and vines, but closed off by a red, wooden door. The red surface is carved with the intricate, delicate details of an apple tree. From the branches, a single golden apple seems to be in a constant descent to the ground. It is only when he knocks that the fruit crashes onto the floor in front of him and splatters into a mushy pile. It’s scent hits his nose; sweet and sickly. <em> Rotten </em>. </p><p>      “You left the path,” a voice says behind him. As Yeosang turns, he comes face to face with the boy from his dream. He smiles and feigns walking a tightrope before tumbling off to the side. “I’m proud of you, Yeosang.”</p><p>      “Who are you?” The blonde asks, stepping backwards slowly. “Why do you keep showing up in my life? Where am I?”</p><p>      “You,” the boy mutters, rolling his eyes, “ask a lot of unnecessary questions. Tell me, do you think I can give you those answers so easily?” He grins, suddenly appearing directly in Yeosang’s face. “I can, but I won’t. Not everyone makes it to the Gate of Truth.”</p><p>      “The Gate of Truth?” </p><p>      “Garden of Eden. Utopia. The Land Beneath the Hill. The Pearly Gates. The Tír na nÓg.” the boy lists off. “You all have so many names for it. But I think you might recognize one a little bit better: <em> Avalon </em> .” The name flashes through his mind like a childhood lodestone. The Isle of the Apples from <em> The Treasure Key </em>. Why bring that up now? </p><p>      It pulls and pulls, magnetized by something invisible, until the answer is dropped at his feet like a million dollar lottery prize. A key. He bends to pick it up, cradling the twirled metal between his fingers, and when he adjusts, the boy is gone. He wakes with a start to a dark room. </p><p>      The constant, fluttering of wings fills his senses first. Like a million tiny bugs trying to slam themselves into the same flame over and over. And then, he sees it. In the corner, a figure looms. Where its head should be is instead a cloud of blue morpho butterflies and cecropia moths. Yet, it still speaks. Low and garbled, like a radio left to be devoured by static, its voice raises the fine hairs on his arms. And yet, it is all too familiar.</p><p>      “Kang Yeosang, there you are,” it says. “Did you miss me?” </p><p>      The static, an all consuming cacophony, forces him beneath a deep wave. The surface is there, just out of reach. For a breath, he can reach it– drag his fingertips through the reflection of his wide, terrified eyes. And then, the darkness swallows him whole. </p><p>
  <em>🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, starlights! Thank you for reading.</p><p>Find me on Twitter: @Kyojinouji</p><p>-Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. aer fixus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW: Past Self-Harm, Mentions of Violence/Death, Implied Sexual Content ✧</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> “You'd better learn that this will not blow over and over. </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> High above, they're taking over you; </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> And you should know, </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> I will not let you go. </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> What is my body worth? </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> Was there a price set before? </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> There's something greater there. </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> It's not gonna change you. </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> We walk along but never turn to see what we have done. </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> We choose our moves so carefully for you. </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> I will not let you go.” </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <b> <em>It’s Far Better to Learn</em> </b> <em> - Saosin </em> </a>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>
  <em>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </em>
</p><p>      Honey. The first thing that hits his senses is the thick, sweet scent of honey. It drips through whatever numb dream his body was engulfed in, coating the distant memory like a haze, and tugs on him until his eyes open slowly. Cracking like a delicate egg, one lid lifts just enough to see the black blur before him move quickly. Far too quickly as it slams into him like a bullet. </p><p>      “Yeosangie!” It’s a voice he knows better than his own. Wooyoung, curling into his chest, sobs loudly. The brunette ignores the panicked yells that erupt through the room and bats away anyone who tries to pull him away from his best friend. The world is still misty, and far too bright, but the creation before him makes a chuckle bubble up from his throat. </p><p>      “Wooyoung, please be careful,” someone else says, their voice deep. Seonghwa’s blonde head comes into focus, worry evident on his features, and Yeosang tries his best to smile at his boyfriend. “How are you feeling, stardust?” Seonghwa whispers, kneeling beside the two. </p><p>      “Like I got hit by a bus,” the younger blonde says. When Hongjoong’s anxious face comes into view, followed by a frantic San, the events of the earlier scene slam into him. The bus, he supposes. “Where’s Jongho?” he says through a gasp, jostling Wooyoung enough to make the man squeak. </p><p>      “Yeosang,” Hongjoong warns, a frown pulling at his features. “We should wait to talk about that.”</p><p>      “No,” Yeosang mutters, his eyebrows furrowing. “I want to talk about it now.”</p><p>      “Yeo–” San starts, but the blonde cuts him off immediately.</p><p>      “I need to talk about it now. Please.” </p><p>      Seonghwa’s fingers find his on top of the blankets. He realizes, dully, that they’re sitting in the infirmary. Through half of the room, a curtain is pulled to emulate the vision of privacy. Nonetheless, his eyes meet the other three sets individually. Pointedly. </p><p>      “The spell backfired,” Hongjoong says carefully. “There were damages, big and small, but Jongho got the brunt of it.”</p><p>      “He’s alive, right?” Yeosang asks. When Hongjoong’s dark gaze finds a particular mark on the tile floor more interesting than his own boyfriend’s face, the blonde feels his heart drop a million miles. It hits the deepest part of the seabed before Seonghwa takes over. </p><p>      “Jongho is alive,” Seonghwa whispers, hardly above a breath. It’s like being lifted into the air and spun in a circle before the midnight sun. “He’s not well, but he survived.”</p><p>      “Not well?”</p><p>      Seonghwa pales. He gnaws at his bottom lip, already raw from the nervous habit, and sighs. “Before I tell you, please know that you’re the reason he is alive.” The eldests palm cups his cheek tenderly. “Whatever you did, no matter how risky it was, you saved him.”</p><p>      “Seonghwa,” San warns, his gaze not leaving the couple. “They could be back any minute. Just hurry up and tell him. You know it’ll be worse if you don’t.”</p><p>      “Seonghwa?” Yeosang mumbles, leaning into the other’s touch. “What happened?”</p><p>      “Due to the extent of his injuries, the other Healers had to perform an emergency amputation.” The words shatter the glass barrier Yeosang put up around his memories of the ritual. The wood frame of the mirror sticking out of Jongho’s stomach like a morbid pizza table. The other pieces pinning him to the floor. Yeosang can’t fight the urge to empty the contents of his stomach. Wooyoung flies away from him within a breath. Luckily, San is fast enough to teleport the trash bin to his side by the second bout of nausea. </p><p>      “Shit, honey,” Hongjoong sprints to his side and pulls his hair into a messy ponytail. The older whispers in his ear, rubbing soft circles between his shoulder blades, as Seonghwa lays a palm over Yeosang’s stomach. By the time the third wave hits, he is dry heaving. </p><p>      “Sangie, this might feel a little warm and fuzzy for a moment,” the blonde warns his boyfriend gently. “I’m going to ease the queasiness a bit.” As the same green light that Seonghwa emitted in the classroom overlays his stomach, Yeosang feels nothing but heat. At first, it’s uncomfortable. However, he finds himself easing into it slowly. Just as promised, the nausea leaves him. </p><p>      Sighing, he slumps against Hongjoong’s shoulder. Exhaustion. Everything is too warm, too sluggish, and incredibly overwhelming. Yet, he still forces the question to leave his lips.</p><p>      “What did he lose?” </p><p>      Seonghwa glances up at him, eyes wide, and sucks in a breath. “His right arm and left leg.” For a moment, silence falls over the room as he processes it. Losing one limb was bad enough. Both, though, was beyond unimaginable. And then it hits him. Jongho would never be able to cast again. As far as Yeosang could tell, the boy was a Physical magician. The majority of the discipline’s techniques were bound to the signs that they ground into their muscle memory. </p><p>      Wooyoung must see the way his face falls. Within seconds, his best friend is at his other side once again. Wooyoung wraps his arms around Yeosang’s torso, effectively joining the dogpile that exists around the boy, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. It’s that gesture that pushes him over the edge. Yeosang collapses backwards, skull banging against the wall behind him, and covers his teary eyes with his arm. </p><p>      “Baby,” Hongjoong whispers, “Jongho’s strong. The school even offered him a solution.” At the admission, Yeosang peeks out from beneath his arm. He doesn’t want to know what he looks like. “Magic is more potent than I think you know, lovebug.”</p><p>      “The Naturalists and the Healers produce their own line of prosthetics,” San says, leaning against the wall. “Mingi actually helped them with it this time.”</p><p>      “Mingi is a Healer?”</p><p>      “Mingi,” Seonghwa laughs, eyes crinkling up at the corners, “is a brilliant Naturalist. He has better control over plant growth than the discipline has seen in years.” He wraps his fingers around Yeosang’s free hand. “He crafted Jongho’s new limbs for him. However, it does go to say that you’ll be seeing more of him.”</p><p>      “What is that supposed to mean?” Yeosang asks, squinting slightly. The light change between the darkness beneath his arm and the rest of the room is too strong for his liking. Especially with the way he knows his tear-stained face is far too visible for the crowd. Before anyone can answer, however, the curtain is pushed back to reveal Mingi.</p><p>      The strawberry blonde’s smile rivals even the most stunning poetry as he makes his way across the room. Yeosang’s eyes don’t leave the magician, until suddenly, they land on two familiar faces just behind him. Yunho, pink hair wild, waves shyly as he pushes a pouting Jongho’s wheelchair. The youngest meets Yeosang’s gaze and offers the gentlest smile that the blonde has ever seen on any human’s face. </p><p>      “It means that I get to tend to the garden that is our wonderful Jongho for the rest of eternity,” Mingi laughs. The cheerful sound delves into something closer to a shriek when the redhead’s good fist crashes against his chest like a comet. Yunho looks close to stepping between the two as Mingi whirls on the younger with a frown. </p><p>      “My missing limbs are not a joke, you big baby,” Jongho mumbles, eyes narrow. “You try adjusting to wooden body parts. I don’t even know how to wipe my ass yet.” </p><p>      From behind the wheelchair, Yunho snorts. “I know we’re supposed to be sympathetic right now, but dude, aren’t you scared of splinters?” The resounding whack that echoes through the infirmary is enough of an answer for the group. Yunho rubs the spot with a frown. The interaction, however, is enough to make Yeosang push himself into a sitting position.</p><p>      “Jongho,” he whispers, attention not straying from the youngest’s pale face. He looks exhausted. What else would one expect from a brush with death. “Are you alright?” Yeosang asks.</p><p>      When the redhead finally looks at him, his eyes soften. Jongho offers him a gummy smile. It’s dull compared to his usually radiant ones, but it is far better than the alternative. Far better from never seeing it again. </p><p>      “Not at all,” he chuckles, motioning for Yunho to wheel him closer. Carefully, Wooyoung scoots off the bed and joins San on the wall, giving the injured magician as much space as he needs. “But I’m not dead.” </p><p>      “I thought you were, though,” Yeosang mumbles, breath catching in his chest. “That’s why I–”</p><p>      “You used the circle,” a new voice says from the doorway. “We will be having a discussion about that at a later date, Kang Yeosang.” Eden moves into the room. His hair has been pulled back into a half-ponytail and circular gold frames rest on the bridge of his nose. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>      Yeosang stares at him, heart palpitating uncomfortably. Gulping, he forces himself to speak. “Honestly? I’ve been better.” He doesn’t know where he pulls the humorous response from. Truly, he didn’t even know he still had it in him. Eden cracks a grin and nods. “Will I be expelled?” Yeosang asks under his breath.</p><p>      Eden’s eyebrow shoots into his hairline. “Why would you be?”</p><p>      “I tried to transmute a human soul. I have the mark–”</p><p>      “You,” Eden says slowly, “didn’t manage to actually transmute anyone, now did you?” The question lingers in the air like smoke, but doesn’t dissipate. “If you managed to actually pull a human soul into the ritual, your consequences would be different. However, Jongho miscalculated that little step. I could be angry with you for attempting it, and believe me, I was at first. However, your loving partners told me the full story.”</p><p>      Yeosang turns to look at his boyfriends. Seonghwa blushes under his attention and rubs the back of his neck while Hongjoong sticks out his tongue. “You didn’t think we would leave you to flounder, did you, Yeo?” Hongjoong says, crossing his arms over his chest. </p><p>      It’s as though Yeosang is seeing him for the first time. His blue hair is tousled over his forehead. His eyes are bloodshot, but clearly past the point of tiredness. Even his outfit, usually meticulous, is the same thing he had on the night before. If he inspects it long enough, Yeosang can see crimson stains. </p><p>      “You didn’t have to–”</p><p>      “We had to,” Seonghwa says, thumbing at the younger blonde’s wrist. “Eden needed to know the full story.” Yeosang makes a quiet noise, akin to a muffled cry, and slumps against his boyfriend’s shoulder. A weight, the same one that had dragged him far beneath the waves of his own thoughts, lifts in that moment. </p><p>      “We won’t discuss it now, Mr. Kang, but I do believe it is important to tell you that your discipline has already been selected.”</p><p>      “My discipline?” Yeosang asks, eyes widening. “There hasn’t been a test yet. I thought it was next week.” </p><p>      Seonghwa presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Can I tell him, Eden?” The headmaster shrugs, a chuckle leaving his throat. However, beside them, Hongjoong bounces on the mattress slightly. “Or both of us should, I suppose,” Seonghwa says. </p><p>      “On three?” Hongjoong asks, looking into Yeosang’s eyes with a brightness to reflect the sun. “1..2–”</p><p>      “Healing!” Seonghwa yells before the blue haired utters the final digit. Yet, he doesn’t catch Hongjoong off-guard. Rather, they both had a similar idea. As Seonghwa’s voice hits the air, so does Hongjoong’s.</p><p>      “Physical,” he says, throwing his arms around both men. “With hints of Knowledge, but we won’t know that for sure until Professor Kang gives you the full analysis.” Hongjoong presses a chaste kiss to the cupid’s bow of Yeosang’s upper lip before pulling away to smile wider. His mentholated chapstick hits the younger strongly, buzzing the dry, sensitive skin. Behind them, he misses the way both Wooyoung and San cringe. The way Wooyoung’s gaze falls onto the shiny toe of his left shoe. </p><p>      Yeosang feels his mouth pop open into a delicate pink ‘o’ as he glances between his grinning boyfriends and the rest of the room. Everyone wears dual expressions of pride. Enough so, that the blonde finds it difficult to bathe in the radiance of their attention. As his gaze drops to his lap, he notices the bandages that were wrapped tightly around his scarred hand are missing. The transmutation circle is a visible, glaring reminder of their actions. </p><p>      “I tried to bring Yunho’s brother back from the dead,” he whispers, not meeting anyone’s eyes, “and you’re praising me?”</p><p>      The pink haired man lets out a soft sigh as he walks closer to Yeosang’s beside. “You were forced into it, Yeosang,” Yunho says. Jongho seems to curl in on himself as the older speaks. It’s a sight that Yeosang nearly misses and one that makes him wish he didn’t see it at all. “Loss changes us. It takes time for things to stop feeling so empty, and even when they do, nothing really goes back to normal.” He casts a look over his shoulder at the redhead. “We talked about it while you were unconscious. As it turns out, anesthetics really do make people say what’s on their mind,” he finishes with a hint of humor.</p><p>      “I’m sorry, Yeosang,” Jongho cuts in bashfully. “Asking you was probably the most impulsive thing that I’ve ever done–”</p><p>      “You’ve done worse,” Mingi mumbles, squeaking when the youngest whaps his chest. </p><p>      “What I was saying,” Jongho groans, “is that I shouldn’t have threatened you. And trust me, losing my limbs didn’t make Eden any more lenient on the fact that I was kind of an ass.”</p><p>      “You,” Hongjoong growls, “were more than an ass.”</p><p>      “Yeah!” Wooyoung yells, leaning forward. “You were a whole dick, too!” Beside him, San lets out a hyena like guffaw. Bent over at the waist, he wraps his arms around himself like a makeshift jacket. The sight makes Yeosang’s heart flutter unexpectedly. The brunette looks so young when he laughs. His dimples on full view and his eyes shut like crescents among the cloudy night as he tries to catch his breath. The blonde only snaps out of it when Seonghwa’s thumb traces another absentminded circle onto his wrist. </p><p>      “Children,” Seonghwa mumbles, as though he is far older than the group around him, “as a Healer and employee of this infirmary, I do have to remind you that there are sick patients all around.”</p><p>      “Are there others in this room?” Yeosang asks, wiggling slightly to try and view past the curtain. However, both Yunho and Seonghwa reach out to stop him before he can move too drastically. “What? Am I on bed rest?” </p><p>      The older blonde frowns and pushes him backwards gently. When his spine cracks from unuse, the room lets out a soft chuckle. Wonderful. Not only was he being confined, but now he was the butt of some secret joke.</p><p>      “You’re not, but…” Seonghwa trails off, glancing at Hongjoong. </p><p>      “You weren’t planning on getting tattoos any time soon, were you, stardust?” Hongjoong mumbles. When Yeosang only stares back at him, the blue-haired reaches for the corner of his sheet and lifts it up just enough for the younger to catch a glimpse of his bare legs. </p><p>      Just below the hem of his hospital gown, white markings lace their way down his legs. They’re intricate, and would be beautiful, if they were not entirely out of place. There had always been scars on the meatier parts of his body. They were self-induced and things that he had always planned to cover with thick black ink. He had wished to create his own garden of monochromatic florality, however, it appeared that something else had grown in the barren soil he had prepared. </p><p>      “What the fuck?” Yeosang whispers as he flings the blanket completely off of himself. Under the light, the markings reflect the light like iridescent typography on a child’s school folder. “Who did this? What did this?” he asks no one and everyone all at the same time. </p><p>      Eden takes a step closer. “Yeosang, did you see anything when you brought Jongho back?” The question catches the magician from the left field. He stares back, mouth opening and closing like a confused fish, as Eden dramatically smacks himself on the forehead. It would be endearing if Yeosang wasn’t at the processing level of a 1995 PC. </p><p>      “Where did I bring him back from?” Internally, he knows the answer. Yet still, he needs someone to say it. Just once to be outright in this damn school.</p><p>      “The dead,” Jongho says softly. “I died, Yeosang. And you used the circle to pull my soul back into my body before I was gone for good.” San doesn’t have time to grab the trash bin before Yeosang is heaving again.</p><p>      Thank God for Seonghwa’s abilities. Within seconds of his stomach calming down, his boyfriend is activating the same green light from earlier with a pinched frown. He sighs when he finishes whatever spell he has been casting on Yeosang to keep the nausea at bay and excuses himself to one of the nearby visitors’ chairs to ‘close his eyes for a moment.’ Before Yeosang can apologize, the oldest presses his lips to his forehead and warns him that apologies will only get more kisses added to the mental tab he’s keeping.</p><p>      “You died,” Yeosang gasps, his voice rough. “I thought I wasn’t able to transmute a soul?”</p><p>      “You didn’t alter anything, so there was no transmutation, Yeosang. You just managed to rebind our dear Jongho’s drifting spirit back to his corpse before it went through the Gate of Truth.” Eden’s words hit him like little plastic BB’s before slamming him with the blunt end of the rifle itself. His wispy dream filters back into his mind.</p><p>      “I saw the gate,” he states, head pounding. “There was a boy– the one who marked me. He said that I left the path. Avalon! He called the gate Avalon.” Beside him, Wooyoung and San both gasp.</p><p>      “That’s–”</p><p>      “<em> The Treasure Key, </em>” Wooyoung cuts San off. “You don’t think it’s actually real, do you?” </p><p>      Yeosang feels it. The past, their childhood, colliding with the force of a thousands burning suns. And for a moment, it is like everything is normal. As though they just had another theory breakthrough about where the main characters of the series went when the books were left unfinished. They spent six long books, seven if you counted the rare spinoff novella, travelling alongside the guards, known as the A.C.E. team, the prince, and the human. They traveled through the Tír na nÓg, primarily Avalon, chasing a set of keys that would lead them to Utopia as though they were part of the fictional journey. And then it hits him. As Eden stares at Yeosang with the same vacant expression he always wears, the world tilts to the side. </p><p>      “It’s you,” Yeosang whispers, not breaking their gaze. “You’re Kim Yonghwan. You were the human who travelled to the Tír na nÓg. You wrote the Treasure Key series.” As he says it, Eden frowns. His brows furrow thickly, and when he shakes his head, it’s like the universe shatters beneath Yeosang’s feet. Evidently, both of his roommates feel the same way as they slide down the wall and onto the floor. </p><p>      “One of those things is true. I wrote the books, however,” he says quietly, “I am not the Kim Yonghwan from the events. He passed away before he was given a chance to record his own story. I just did the favor of doing it for him. You are correct, though, Yeosang. Avalon is real; the Tír na nÓg is real.” The Earth begins to spin again.</p><p>      San leaps up, eyes wide, and gestures wildly. “The books actually happened?” he asks. Eden nods with the ghost of a smile, his eyes almost sad. “Who were they?” When Eden doesn’t answer, the brunette backs down. He sinks next to Wooyoung like a sack of potatoes, dark gaze filled with mystery. </p><p>      “Why did I see the gate?” Yeosang asks. </p><p>      “Only someone who walks between the realms gets to see the gate, Kang Yeosang.” Eden’s voice is low. And for a moment, the universe seems to cower before the man in front of him. “Your particular talents, your mix of disciplines, and the markings that have made their home on your flesh show us exactly why you have been given the opportunity to tread that line.”</p><p>      Yeosang doesn’t know when Wooyoung got off of the floor, but suddenly, he is at the blonde’s side. His fingers find Yeosang’s as he intertwines them together like red strings. Hongjoong, who had still been pushed against the younger’s body, smiles gently at the brunette. He would never be jealous of Wooyoung at a moment like this. </p><p>      “Kang Yeosang,” Eden says quietly, “you have been marked as the first Necromancer in nearly three-hundred years.” Suddenly, the world is shifting again, but this time it’s because Yeosang is most certainly about to knock out.</p><p>      He doesn’t dream. Instead, he floats through his last few hours in the infirmary until Seonghwa is gently lifting him from his bed and carrying him upstairs to his apartment. Even when the older speaks to him softly, hushed tones whispered against the evening air, Yeosang can’t do much but nod. Seonghwa, with a frown, pushes him into the bathroom with a clean set of sweats and a baggy t-shirt, and demands that he relax for just a minute. <br/>At first, Yeosang tries to protest, nearly throwing an emotionless temper tantrum. All it takes is a butterfly kiss to his nose and a light shove with the promise that the older will not leave the other side of the closed door until he comes out. Yeosang steps into the hot shower with a sigh. He hardly pays attention to the lavish soaps and shampoos that Seonghwa has lining the shelves. Through the haze, he fumbles for an orange one that is described as ‘honeysuckle and citrus’ and nearly cries when the sweet scent hits him. It’s the same smell that lingers on Hongjoong’s skin every time they embrace. </p><p>      As he lathers the body wash onto his skin, his eyes rake down the myriad of shimmering marks that dance on his personal canvas. He did not see just how intricate they were in the infirmary. Nor did he process just how many there were total. They start on his collar bones and cross the broad expanse of his shoulders. Dozens of markings are scrawled on his arms, emulating full sleeves of iridescent lace, and trail down his torso, stomach, hips, thighs, and shins. Only his feet, neck, and face have been left untouched. </p><p><em>       ‘At least I’ll never have to pay for scar cover-ups now.’ </em>The bitter thought flits through his mind quickly and is out the window before he really has a chance to focus on it. Maybe, it’s better that way. As he pours a handful of shampoo into his palm, he closes his eyes. It’s rosemary and mint, he realizes, and matches Seonghwa’s dainty scent to a T. The smile that graces his lips as he works it into his own strands is painted by something beyond him. It only grows when he opens the door to see the blonde’s worried face on the other side.</p><p>      Seonghwa is slumped against the wall, legs to his chest, and chewing on his lip dramatically. He seems to be distracted by scrolling through something on his phone. For a breath, he doesn’t notice Yeosang’s presence. However, when he does, he drops the cell onto the ground and shoots off of the floor like a rocket. </p><p>      “Are you alright, Yeosangie?” Seonghwa asks, puttering around him like a flustered butterfly. The comparison makes Yeosang’s stomach roll as he remembers the figure from his dream. Nightmare? Vision? He couldn’t be sure anymore.</p><p>      Yeosang hums as he opens his arms for a hug. The older man embraces him, warm chest pressing against his own, and presses a kiss to his forehead. It’s almost everything he needs, and yet, there is a missing piece. A small, blue-haired that he longs to hold tightly.</p><p>      “Where’s Joong?” Yeosang mumbles into the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt. The older threads his fingers through his wet hair carefully, rubbing tiny circles into the nape of his neck. “I miss him.”</p><p>      “He went to grab you a few things from your dorm. He’ll be here soon, though,” the other blonde says warmly. “Do you want to get ready for bed? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”</p><p>      The thought of sleeping sends a shiver down his spine. In the back of his mind, his thoughts fall victim to the sound of static. The flapping of tiny wings. The darkness that rumbled through his chest and poured from his ears like a cacophonous orchestra. </p><p>      “I’m not tired,” Yeosang says. It’s an obvious lie, though, as a yawn overpowers his voice. Seonghwa chuckles and pulls him to the bedroom by his wrist gently. </p><p>      “Tell you what,” Seonghwa says, sitting on the mattress. Carefully, he pats his thigh as though it's a comfortable seat. Yeosang raises an eyebrow, but plops down into the man’s lap without a complaint. It really is a comfortable seat. “While we wait, do you want to test how sleepy you actually are?” </p><p>      For a second, the question catches him off guard. And then, the reality hits him. With a smirk, he nods. It’s probably far too enthusiastic, but at this point, anything guaranteeing an escape from his mind was more than welcomed. </p><p>      “I’d love to,” he says, turning just enough to slot his lips against Seonghwa’s. The blonde smiles into the kiss. He presses a tender palm to the dip of Yeosang’s back. The warmth seeps through the thin fabric in a way that grounds the younger. It draws him to the reality of who he is with, the beauty of the contact between them, and he suddenly finds himself gasping into the older’s mouth. </p><p>      Seonghwa uses the change to his advantage. Within seconds, he is kitten-licking along the roof of Yeosang’s hard palate. His long tongue traces the inside of his mouth carefully. With a groan, the younger fidgets on his boyfriend’s lap. </p><p>      His squirming only increases when Seonghwa’s fingers dip below the waistband of his borrowed sweats. The man does not test his limits, however, and only rests them there. It’s a possessive move, Yeosang realizes, but one that is being done to keep the younger on the same mental plane. And for that, his heart fills with helium. He could fly away now and be convinced that this was paradise.</p><p>      Their antics distract entirely from Hongjoong’s quiet approach. It’s only when the thump of a duffel hitting the ground resonates through the room that the couple realizes they have an audience. With a soft gasp, Yeosang breaks away to face their boyfriend with an alarmed look. Expecting Hongjoong to be furious, he braces himself for a beat down, only to be met with a sultry look. </p><p>      “I didn’t know this was in the plans for tonight.” </p><p>      “It wasn’t,” Seonghwa grins, voice thick with a sultry smokiness. “But plans change, don’t they?”</p><p>      “As long as that change includes me, I don’t really care,” Hongjoong says with a devilish smirk. He wastes no time jumping onto the bed and steals a peck from Yeosang’s lips like candy. “You don’t mind, do you, angel?” he asks.</p><p>      “The only thing that I mind,” Yeosang says lazily, “is that there is a great lack of making out right this second. I would like to fix that.” </p><p>      He doesn’t hold back the way he yelps when Hongjoong pins him to the bed by his wrists, over Seonghwa’s lap, and licks into his mouth. Their teeth clack together painfully and the amount of spit dripping down his chin is far more than he would usually prefer, but right now, it does not matter. Not with Seonghwa’s fingers ghosting up and down his sides. Not with the pretty noises that Yeosang pulls out of Hongjoong with every well-timed nip. Not with the absolute comfort that he feels around the two men. Their first time together isn’t perfect, but in this world, what is?</p><p>
  <em>🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, starlights! Thanks for reading. </p><p>Apologies for the short chapter! It's a LOT to take in so I figured I would split up some of the 'answers' into bite-sized installments. </p><p>** also sorry to those who wanted the end to be uhhh more explicit,,,for some reason, I felt like it needed to be a private moment for the boys this time.</p><p>Follow me on Twitter ( @KyojinOuji ) !<br/>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>Questions are always welcome too! Either drop them in the comments, in my cc, or in my Twitter DMs.</p><p>- Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. aurum fulminans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW// *SMUT STARTS THE CHAPTER, VERY Graphic Violence, Blood</p><p>*Page Breaks (marked as ✧✧✧) have been inserted before and after so that you can skip it if that's not your cup of tea. TLDR for that section will be in the end notes.* ✧</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>“The water was cool and you're shining.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>The windows were burning patterns in my mind.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>And running away was so tiring.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Holding your stare, I felt miles behind.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>And how do you love when you're frightened?</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>The thought of me fucking up all these threads.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Situations I know are just passing.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>I'm holding on for you.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>And static feel.”</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <b>
        <em>How to Sleep</em>
      </b>
      <em>
        <span> - EDEN</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
<hr/></blockquote><p>
  <span>
    <em>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </em>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>       When they started out this relationship, Yeosang had never imagined himself gagged and blindfolded. It wasn’t that his boyfriends had seemed like entirely vanilla individuals. And it certainly wasn’t that he hadn’t spent the majority of his young adult life wishing for a chance to explore his own fantasies, but it was not something he expected to ever come true. But now, a month later, that is exactly where the magician finds himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong, whose fingers were tightly threaded into the longest strands of the younger’s hair, barks out some sultry order to Seonghwa. Yeosang knows that it involves the candle they had only recently extinguished. They had sought for his consent following the ritual Professor Kang had assigned as the final orientation exam. Where other students were given a short spell to practice their assigned discipline’s magical aptitude, to test how accurate their placement actually was, Yeosang was thrown into a mixed challenge. He, luckily, was allowed to seek outside help.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>✧✧✧</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>       The still warm wax– soy, Hongjoong confirmed over and over to reassure his safety– drips onto his skin slowly. It stings, for a second, as it splashes against the soft, plush expanse of his thighs. Each time, the sensation makes him gasp. Even through the fabric gag, he produces a high-pitched noise that makes him want to curl in on himself. If he wasn’t so deep within the headspace the two had immersed him in, he certainly would have shriveled up from embarrassment. And that’s exactly what he is beginning to believe turns Hongjoong on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa, however, takes a more nurturing role as he pulls Yeosang into his lap. His chest presses against the youngest’s back as he nibbles on the sensitive dip of the collarbone. “Color?” he asks, one arm winding around the Necromancer’s stomach easily while the other pulls the gag out of his mouth. He’s like a constantly moving vine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Green,” Yeosang gasps, squirming against the older. “Just fuck me already, for the love of–” Seonghwa laughs as he tugs the fabric until it resettles between Yeosang’s lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You talk a lot when you’re nervous,” Hongjoong chuckles. He kneels down, fingers dancing under the blonde’s chin, and tilts his head upwards. “I’m going to loosen you up, okay? If it gets to be too much, you need to tap Seonghwa’s thigh or shoulder.” Yeosang nods, mentally preparing himself for the feeling of Hongjoong’s dainty fingers, but instead another sensation takes over entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa flips him over in his lap. His knees hit the hardwood floor with a thwack. The older blonde makes a quite, alarmed sound as he presses kisses to Yeosang’s face over and over. It makes him chuckle softly, until suddenly, something brushes over his entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong’s tongue tentatively tickles the sensitive area with calculated precision. Yeosang’s breath immediately hitches as the wet heat rubs over him once. Then, twice. It’s as though he is testing the waters, rather than diving straight in, and the thought makes Yeosang writhe. Seonghwa, noticing the way he tenses up, pulls the gag from his mouth once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you alright, moonbeam?” he asks. When Yeosang moans out a guttural ‘yes’, the Healer sighs happily. His palms move to settle on Yeosang’s ass before parting the cheeks slowly. Hongjoong, glad to have better access without the same amount of work, uses the opportunity to lap greedily at his hole. It’s no surprise when Yeosang bites into Seonghwa’s shoulder, hardly hearing the groan that it brings out of the blonde. When Hongjoong’s fingers suddenly brush the tip of his cock, hardly dipping into the slit, the youngest squeals and arches his back. The would have been it for him if the blue-haired beast didn’t grip the base of his dick to stop the rising wave of pleasure from spilling over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hongjoong!” Yeosang whines, squirming in his boyfriends’ hold. Both laugh airly, before suddenly, Seonghwa has him on his back, wrists pinned far above his head. “You’re both mean,” he cries, jolting when the eldest slots a knee between his thighs. It nudges his crotch gently, rubbing against his dick, and he keen loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Lube?” The bottle skitters over to them, plastic thunking gracelessly against the floor. He can hear the cap being popped and the thick liquid pouring into a dollop between the older’s fingers. “This is going to be cold, okay, pretty?” Seonghwa asks, rubbing a digit in a circle around his entrance. Yeosang sucks in a sharp breath, bracing himself for the chill, and groans when Seonghwa eases a finger inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He pumps it in slowly, despite the slight prep that Hongjoong had already done, and presses a kiss to Yeosang’s forehead as he does. Their other boyfriend slides over, holding the blonde’s wrists down when he starts to squirm with the second and third fingers. Evidently following in the blue-haired’s footsteps, Seonghwa pulls his fingers out until only the tips are still inside of Yeosang. And then, he kitten licks at the spaces between the digits. It is enough to make the younger scream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Fucking put your dick in me, Park Seonghwa, before I do it myself–” Yeosang screeches, thrashing wildly under both men. Seonghwa cuts him off with a loud laugh and does just what he asks. He works the shaft in an inch at a time, terrified of overwhelming the Necromancer, and only bottoms out when Yeosang fucks himself onto the rest of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Blindfold,” Yeosang moans, “I want to see you both. Please.” Hongjoong obliges within a breath, smiling down on the younger as he presses a kiss to his lips. Yeosang, not one to do anything half-assed, whines when the man breaks the contact. “Kiss me again,” he whispers. And so, Hongjoong does. He slots their lips together easily and licks into Yeosang’s mouth as though they have all the time in the world. He knows that the heady taste lingering on the older’s tongue is his own. The thought runs through his mind like a buzzing, electric wire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A particular thrust sends Yeosang scrambling for purchase on the hardwood floor. The only things nearby are the remnants of the final orientation exam. The spare bones and teeth. The ashes, the salpeter, the silicon, and the ammonia. The other trace elements. And the live guinea pig subjected to witness the entire scene before it from its tiny metal cage in the center of the transmutation circle. Right, they had just revived it. The realization of being watched only kills his vibe slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa pulls out of him almost entirely before slamming back in and hitting the spongy gland head on. As the older brushes his prostate on the downswipe, Yeosang keens and arches his back. He’s desperate for release, that much is obvious, but what he always wants is to get Hongjoong off. The blue-haired watches with a cat-like grin, evidently content to be palming at himself without the help of anyone else, but they were a three-for-one package. Yeosang would be damned if that meant he didn’t get to wreck at least one of them tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Wait,” he gasps, stilling until Seonghwa pulls out with an alarmed look. “Do it from behind,” Yeosang whimpers, rolling onto his stomach. Seonghwa begins to ask a question, but his arms loop under the younger just enough to pull him to his knees. On all fours, Yeosang motions for Hongjoong to come over to him. “I want Seonghwa to fuck me while I suck you off,” he mumurs, leaning up to push a filthy kiss to Hongjoong’s open mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      To say any of them lasted much longer would be an understatement.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>✧✧✧</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>      Classes were not meant to change dramatically following their Discipline Analysis. Instead, they were meant to break off from their orientation course and slowly integrate into the main workload. Somehow, though, the adjustment was less of a transition and more of a sprint straight into a concrete wall. And the worst part of it all, surprisingly, had been leaving the dorm rooms they had so willingly called home for the past few weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ll miss you,” Mingi cries, pulling Yeosang to his chest in a crushing hug. As the Naturalist dampens the top of his head with thick, salty tears, the blonde can only let it happen. In his time knowing the gentle giant, he has learned quickly that there was no escaping his vice-like hold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Mingi,” Yeosang murmurs, wiggling when the heavy weight around his shoulders grew too suffocating. “We’re all still going to see each other for lunch. And you’re basically a second-degree resident at the Physical Kids’ cottage anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’d offer up the Consciousness building,” a voice says behind them, “but they don’t take kindly to newcomers stumbling into their space.” San smiles softly, throwing an arm around Yeosang’s shoulder when the other two magicians finally part. “Am I welcome at the cottage too, Yeosangie?” he asks playfully, planting a kiss to Yeosang’s cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The blonde makes a panicked noise before using the back of his hand to rub away at the mark. “Ask your boyfriend,” he mumbles, eyes landing on Wooyoung’s cackling figure. “He’s as much of a Physical Kid as I am.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>If not more,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks. His best friend wasn’t a mish-mash of three different specialties. He wasn’t some case that the university had to try to navigate. He just got to be Wooyoung, the Physical magician.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You didn’t think you were getting rid of me that easily, did you, Yeo?” Wooyoung asks before pulling the blonde to his hip with a quick movement. Yeosang rolls his eyes, but the smile that flickers onto his lips is telltale. There was no getting away from Jung Wooyoung.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Truly, he had been given a choice. Eden and Professor Kang made sure that Yeosang knew all of the benefits of all three residences for his small gathering of disciplines. Knowledge students were placed directly within Eden’s own care; Jongho being one of them. They had unlimited access to his personal library, a place expanding over thousands of years of magical history, and to the man’s mind itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It was a tempting offer, but something held him back. The thought of locking himself away would have appealed to the past version of him; the one who saw little humanity in humans and trusted a single soul. But they were not the same person now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He declined the offer as soon as it left Eden’s lips. At first, the headmaster’s gaze widened, but the expression dissipated within the breath. Similarly, Professor Kang appeared to be absolutely baffled, but said nothing. Yeosang did not push the matter and so they moved on without another thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well, you know enough about the Physical and Healing lodgings,” Eden says with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. For a moment, the statement baffles the young blonde. Until suddenly, he realizes the man is teasing him. A deep crimson flush blankets him as he hides his face in his hands. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Yeosang. You’re an adult and these decisions are your own. However, I hope you’re using the right...protective measures.” As the headmaster speaks, Yeosang is certain that he might pass out from the rush of embarrassment. He could handle his mother having a conversation like this with him before he could the Master of Knowledge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Please, stop,” Yeosang begs, mentally plotting his own death. Given that he was the only one who could reverse those consequences, it would be a bonafide escape from ever having to relive something of the same mortification level. “Yes, I do know the living situations quite well, thank you.” With a groan, he rubs his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The infirmary will put you closer to the majority of campus, however, the apartments offered are all studio style. You wouldn’t have the collaborative opportunities that something like the Physical Kids’ cottage offers.” The nickname for the building sounds odd coming from Eden’s lips. He is far too formal to truly let it roll off of his tongue naturally. It makes the newer magician chuckle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With a confused glance, Professor Kang’s eyebrow rises slightly. “Is something funny?” he asks. It does not come off in a sarcastic way nor does it sound as though the man is teasing him. In reality, the professor truly just seems baffled. Nonetheless, Yeosang shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “As much as I enjoy the idea of privacy, I do like the general set-up of the cottage more. It’s less uptight,” Yeosang says, thinking over his options. The cottage put him out of the way of the campus, but it also let him have time to himself when he needed it. Everyone had their own room and bathroom. The only shared common areas were the main floor of the cabin and the kitchen. It really was not a risk to join it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Is that the placement you would like, then?” Kang asks, tilting his head to the side. When Yeosang nods, the man shuffles through the files in front of him until he pulls out a stark white sheet of paper. As it slides before Yeosang, the golden butterfly embossment that stares back at him sends the Necromancer back to the day of the entrance exam. This time, however, it rests on the edge of an hourglass. For a moment, the light catches the glittering image in a way that makes the sand look as though it is drifting upwards. Yeosang signs the form without a doubt in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      So now, portaling his belongings to the new room within the cottage, he can’t help but laugh every time Yunho lifts a box and pretends to waltz with it. The tall, pink-haired man twirls through the unfamiliar room like a lanky sugar-plum faery. Even when Mingi stumbles in behind him, a bizarre look flashing over his face, Yeosang can’t stop himself from chuckling. The two were a mystery to him, truly, and he worried about their separation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yunho had taken one look at his Illusion results before nearly begging Eden to let him room elsewhere. Whereas Mingi would be moving into the Natural discipline’s treehouse, Yunho would be stuck in the invisible castle the Illusionists had created. They had already known long before the analysis that Yunho would be placed there, however, it was like the man refused to let the information seep into his thoughts until now. Yunho had one-hundred percent avoided the reality that lingered over them. And, yet again, Yeosang could not relate more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It won’t be too bad,” he hears someone say just outside his door. “It’s not like they’re forcing you to stay at the Consciousness thing all of the time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “They can’t really do that,” another voice responds with an aggravated sigh. Yeosang can practically imagine the way San is running his hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m pretty sure being a Traveller means they can’t keep me in one spot for too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The conversation becomes clear as Wooyoung throws open the door to Yeosang’s new bedroom. It slams into the wall, rattling the shelves, and makes him grin as he checks for any lasting marks. Today, however, he seems to be scot-free. When he catches the way his best friend narrows his eyes, his smile only grows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hey neighbor!” he calls, barreling toward Yeosang like a greyhound. “You settling in alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We just got here, you dork,” Yeosang mumbles into the wool of the other’s sweater as he is wrangled into a hug. “Not all of us can teleport to and from.” As he says it, his attention falls onto San over Wooyoung’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung parts from him long enough to glance around the room. “You got a built-in bookcase? Why did I not get one?” San laughs, cuffing him on the back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You got a balcony,” he says while rolling his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that Yeo could use the extra storage for all of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Treasure Key</span>
  </em>
  <span> merch he had ferreted in our room.” Wooyoung pouts at his boyfriend’s words, but doesn’t say anything. It had been like this since the two had started officially dating. At some point, they had made the decision to nullify whatever marriage they had during their one-night stand. San had said that he wanted to do things the right way this time. And for once, Yeosang agreed wholeheartedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It did not stop his chest from aching, though, when he saw the two together. Even with Seonghwa and Hongjoong by his side, there would always be that connection to the younger man. The desire to be the one by his side. And at this point, he wasn’t sure that it would ever actually go away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It’s at that moment that a cheerful voice breaks through the air, shattering the peace. Hongjoong, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, shows up in the doorway with an armful of vibrant yellow, blue, pink, and purple flowers. The buttery-tone of the tulips draws the blonde’s attention first. As Hongjoong drifts into the room, it takes everything Yeosang has to not burst into tears right there and then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Brought you a housewarming gift,” Hongjoong says, pushing the bouquet into Yeosang’s arms. “Yellow tulips for happiness, pale pink roses for admiration, wisteria as a warm welcome, and Agapanthus for love.” Hongjoong smiles as he runs the tip of his finger over the purple, trumpet shaped blossom. “It’s also known as a Peter Pan flower.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s beautiful,” Yeosang whispers, eyes trailing over every individual petal. “You’re too kind, Joong.” He presses a kiss to the man’s jaw and picks his way through his scattered belongings. Gently, he sets the gift on the sturdy wooden desk that rests just beneath one of the wide, arched picture windows. His heart swells with pride as he glances at the stunning floral arrangement. Within seconds, he is back at Hongjoong’s side and smothering the man with a dozen kisses. He only stops when the rest of the room fakes sounds of disgust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Get a room!” Mingi calls, leaping out of the way as Yeosang swipes a pillow off of the floor and chucks it toward the younger’s head. If it had been Seonghwa throwing the projectile, it would have hit him dead-on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re in my room, flower boy!” Yeosang barks, rolling his eyes. When Mingi lets out another loud crack of laughter, Yunho joins him. It’s that moment that brings the fuzziest feeling, like carbonated lemonade fizzing in the pit of his stomach. They were adjusting. Maybe, in time, it would all feel normal. Maybe, they were allowed to just be grad students with a little bit of magic floating around in their lives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      On the first day of specialized classes, the group finds themselves back in the same lecture hall that Professor Kang had used for the first few orientation courses. Following the transmutation ritual, they had been forced to change rooms for the remainder of the class. However, the repairs had been done and the space had found itself restored back to its original condition. That did not stop the uncomfortable flip that his stomach had deemed the most acceptable reaction to nearly everything these days. He could still feel the vicious wind on his skin; the stickiness of Jongho’s blood on his fingers. Everything was still there in his memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You alright?” Wooyoung asks softly, wrapping his hand around Yeosang’s. “You look like you want to throw up.” The comment has San’s gaze raking over the room in an attempt to locate the nearest trash bin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I don’t like being back here,” Yeosang murmurs, squeezing the brunette’s fingers tightly. “It still smells like sulfur. Don’t you think it smells like sulfur?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I think,” Wooyoung lifts his arm until he’s able to press a tender kiss to the inside of the blonde’s wrist, “that you’re still recovering.” Carefully, he guides the others to a row of seats toward the front of the room. It’s far enough from the door that Yeosang feels the nervous energy in his veins thrum anxiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Shit, I thought we were on time,” Yunho mutters, taking the seat between Jongho and Mingi. “You guys don’t think we’ll be stuck front and center forever, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I think,” groans Jongho, “people are rather protective of their seats from day one and beyond.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Their conversation is cut short as someone marches into the room with all of the grace a being could muster. His dark hair falls over his forehead in light waves and white eyeliner rims his waterline, curving up at a sharp point on the wing. He radiates something beyond human; a regality that Yeosang can’t quite put his finger on. Behind him, Eden trails in slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Good afternoon, everyone,” Eden begins, waving at the students. “It’s nice to see our first year class in the same location all at once again.” His stare lands on Yeosang, dancing over the boy, before it moves over the rest of the group. His eyes hold the same intelligent fire that they have burned with throughout their every meeting. “Welcome to Level One Battle Magic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The man beside him snaps his fingers, casting a powerpoint projection onto the chalkboard behind them. As the shitty animation flickers across the screen, Mingi stifles a chuckle. “Graphic design is my passion,” he mumbles before Yunho’s eyes go wide. The two magicians seem to try and hold back their laughter, however, it fails miserably. By the time they’ve reached the point of tears, the new professor has already locked onto their outburst. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Song Mingi and Jeong Yunho,” Eden barks. The boys shoot up in their seats; ramrod straight. “Care to tell us what you find so funny about Professor Kim’s presentation?” The name snaps into Yeosang’s mind suspiciously. He had yet to hear of a Battle Magic professor under the name of Kim. Truly, he hadn’t even heard of a single Battle Magic professor at all. The practice had been banned until–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “This year is the first we will be reintroducing Battle Magic to the curriculum. Due to the use of it during all four World Wars–” Eden gets out just before a dozen hands shoot into the air. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Headmaster,” says a boy with highlighter yellow hair from the back row, “there were only two World Wars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The man beside Eden smiles. His eyes crinkle up at the corners, smushing the white liner dramatically, and he places a hand over Eden’s when the director’s mouth flounders open. “There were only two publicly discussed wars, Yeonjun,” the brunette says. “However, there have been four magically related in just the last two hundred years. Dozens more if we take a look back to the origin of written records.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The magician known as Yeonjun leans back in his seat with wide eyes. Around him, four other boys laugh at his obvious shock. Yeosang even catches one, a brunette with fluffy brown hair, mutter something about ‘mundane living’ before another smacks him gently. If the group didn’t seem so rowdy, he might even be inclined to befriend them. However, Wooyoung’s focus is also on them. He can guarantee those five will be joining them for lunch sometime before the week is over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Thank you, Maddox,” the Master of Knowledge says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maddox</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It has to be a coincidence, however, Yeosang cannot shake the earlier conversation with the headmaster regarding The Treasure Key. Only the Kim Yonghwan from the series had passed on, according to Eden, so who was to say that this was not the same elven prince? The faery who travelled far and wide searching for his heart’s one true desire. But maybe…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His ideas stop once the man’s eyes settle on him however. They’re an intense shade of shimmering brown that leaves Yeosang flopping between whether they’re actually closer to maroon or gold. And for a minute, they don’t break contact. It’s only when Eden ushers the presentation on and Wooyoung traps his fingers once again that Yeosang pulls his focus away from the professor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      For the majority of the hour, time passes like that. Wooyoung clinging to him as though he’s the last boat out of the harbor and the rest of the room pretending that the world couldn’t be more boring. They were talking about Battle Magic, for God’s sake, and it should be interesting. However, they were quickly hit with the revelation that the first few weeks would be nothing more than an in depth deep dive into the history of the topic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San, who had been resting his head on his desk, stands up suddenly. His face is pale and he pinches the bridge of his nose as though his entire body is undergoing some painful procedure. And maybe it is, because the Psychic mumbles something about a headache before vanishing out of the room with a pop. Neither figure of authority can stop him nor do they try. Instead, Eden just sighs while confused apprehension dances over Maddox’s features. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      After that, the lecture continues. The tension remains, however, and everyone can feel it’s tendrils lick at their skin with each passing second. It’s when Wooyoung’s leg begins to bounce, a habit that he’s had for years, that Yeosang moves to still him. No matter how long they have been friends, the jostling of fabric makes his own nerves dance wildly. And right now, that is not a feeling he wants to undergo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Just as his palm settles over the other man’s thigh, however, a chill settles over the room. When he tries to glance up, to lift his head and peer around the hall, something holds him in place. It is as though a large hand has forced his body into submission. None of his muscles cooperate aside from his eyes. And even then, his line of sight is limited. He tries to form a question, to make any sort of sound, but nothing comes through. Time, it seemed, had stopped entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The change in the air happens with the splitting of a hair. Within seconds. The space falls into absolute silence. A coin someone has been spinning between their fingers hits the floor. It rolls on its side, going and going, until it clatters to a stop at the foot of one of the mirrors toward the back of the room. And that is when it happens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Static is the first sound that arrives in the classroom. It’s loud and overpowering; exactly like flipping to the wrong TV source in the early 2000s. If he didn’t know better, Yeosang would assume the sound was coming from the ancient speakers stacked in the corner. But, he knows better. And no matter how much he wants to pretend that he has never heard a noise quite like this, it is impossible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      From his angle, nearly tucked into Wooyoung’s shoulder from the way he abruptly turned to the other man, he has a clear view of the mirror. Maybe that’s why he is staring at the coin, its rigid surface glinting in the light, as the surface of the large looking glass ripples. When the telltale heart of his nightmares peers through, he feels his body turn to pins and needles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>      Beside him, Wooyoung meets his eyes, just for a breath, before the beast steps through. It’s a thundering sound, palpitating with the beat of insect wings. The figure from his dream wears a suit of dark grey and navy blue. Where his head should be is still a cloud of moths and dark butterflies. As he settles into the room, commanding the attention of every stationary student, breathing no longer is a simple feat. Instead, his presence is suffocating. It radiates destruction. Power. Fury. And death; he smells of death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The beast takes a step, cautious at first, before gaining confidence. Then, it’s a chassé. One foot after the other, he dances around the perimeter of the room before stopping just in front of Eden and Maddox. The sound, the broken radio that Yeosang heard so clearly addressed to him only weeks before in what he thought was a fever dream, breaks through the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Do you enjoy hide and seek?” it asks, prancing closer to the two magicians. Maddox’s face, despite its stillness, reflects the exact emotion that Yeosang feels; terror. However, before the being can do anything, a crack echoes through the room. In the back, farthest from the creature and the front row, is San. His dark hair wild, he stands there with a manic look in his eye. He doesn’t say anything, instead, he flickers out again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And then he’s back, at the front of the room, with his hands around the beast’s neck. Or rather, where they can only assume his throat is. Before he can do anything, the figure’s hands come up slowly. It’s a chain of intricate spell signage, movement that first year magicians can never hope to keep memorized, and then he stops. In that moment, it seems like everything is fine. As though his spell failed and San was safe. But then, the blast comes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It’s a red circle of light that slams into the brunette’s chest and sends him flying. When his body hits the back wall, there is a sharp sound of something breaking. And then, San crumples to the floor. Yeosang can only watch as Wooyoung’s form goes rigid. He is trying to move, trying to do anything to help his lover, but it is impossible. This situation is impossible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You don’t like games?” the creature utters, deep and guttural, as it takes a step after San. It does not move quickly, knowing that it has all of the time in the world, and instead drags out whatever agony it intends to inflict. However, as its leather shoes kick lightly at the Traveller’s still body, there is another sound that erupts from the front of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Eden, having broken from whatever trance the class had fallen victim to, places his hands together. He then separates them so that his palms are facedown, but his middle fingers still touch. His right hand flips over and he bends the index finger on the same side. Eden rotates both hands so that palms are turned to the ground and lays the right one on top of the left; creating an arrow of amber light that emanates from the flesh. And then, he retains the same shape with his right and bends his arm to his cheek; as though pulling back the string of a bow. When he lets go, the light flies toward the creature. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It slams into his chest, piercing straight through, before the figure stills. For a moment, Yeosang is able to move. The distraction had given them a few seconds of relief. And then, the spell is cast again. His limbs go rigid and his muscles buzz with the red-hot feeling of magic. He cannot move, but all he wants to do is scream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Because, it is in that brief lapse, that the beast appears before Eden. And, without pomp and circumstance, it reaches out to the headmaster’s face. Yeosang cannot block out the vision in the mirror as the being plucks the eyes out of the Master of Knowledge’s head like dandelion tops. Eden doesn’t scream, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If he could, Yeosang believes his usual composure would have deteriorated beneath the pain. Whose wouldn’t?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The nightmare then casts another spell. This one slices Eden’s hands off, cleanly, at the wrist. As they hit the ground, there are two dull thumps. And then, the beast begins his wicked dance back around the perimeter. He comes to a stop, just in front of Yeosang, and leans down until their faces are level. Even at this distance, he is just a crawling cloud of wings and color. There are no features to be seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A butterfly lands on Yeosang’s cheek. It’s chitin, soft and downy, brushes his eyelash as its wing flaps lazily. The beast makes a wicked sound, a crackling laugh, and drops Eden’s eyes onto the desk. He makes sure that both pupils face Yeosang. With the headmaster’s blood still slick on his hands, he drags his finger in a ‘U’ shape under the organs. A morbid smiley face stares back. And then, there are fingers beneath his chin. The sticky crimson presses into his flesh and his stomach rolls with the contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you ready to go home, Kang Yeosang?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, moonbeams! Thanks for reading.</p><p>*** TLDR: Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yeosang take advantage of Yeosang's final exam materials from his orientation course (rope and candle wax.) The test was to resurrect a creature so they bring back a guinea pig. ****</p><p>The ending of this chapter is nearly identical to what happened at the end of The Magician's S01EP01 so if you need a visual; there is one.</p><p>Follow me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji<br/>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>- Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. saccharum saturni</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE ✧</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> “Look at yourself in the mirror.  </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> I see you and I can feel you.  </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> Hug and kiss me. </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> Show me your face behind your mask. </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> If I can't see your happiness, I’d like to hold your sadness. </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <em> I know your sadness. </em> <em> ” </em> </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ"> <b> <em>hug &amp; kiss - </em> </b> <em> fka, Lydia Paek, MISO, sogumm </em> </a>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>
  <em>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </em>
</p><p>      “Yeosang?” </p><p>      Pins and needles line his skin. He’s walking through a pine forest, brushing against every tree limb with bareskin. He’s in agony, but he can’t focus. He can’t make the pain stop and-</p><p>      “Kang Yeosang?” His attention snaps to the woman kneeling in front of him, her tiny hand waving in front of his face. “I need you to talk to me. We would prefer to stay out of your head against your consent, but we have to understand what happened.”</p><p>      Yeosang stares at her. Through her. Is she really even there? He cocks his head to the side, watching her intently, as she sighs. Shifting her weight to the heels of her bright white rubber soles, she rubs a hand over her eyes. Wordlessly, she motions another woman over to her side and whispers something in her ear. He hardly catches it, but he knows that his boyfriend’s name floats through the air for a second. <em> Park Seonghwa. </em>When she turns back to him, her attention is past exhausted. She’s frustrated. And for God’s sake, so is he. </p><p>      “Yeosang, please work with me. I just need you to tell me why The Beast knew your name.” The Beast. That was what they were calling the man that stepped into their lives and ripped everything to shreds. The image sends a shiver down his spine. “Utopia needs to know how it got in.”</p><p>      “I don’t know,” he says finally, pulling his knees to his chest. “How am I supposed to know? I didn’t even want to be here in the first place.” When his response disappears from the air, the woman pats him on the shoulder gently. </p><p>      “I understand, darling. This is a terrifying experience for everyone involved.” She surveys the milling crowd. The students that had been sitting closest to Eden were speckled with a light spray of crimson. The mental veil that was trying to close around him dissipates just enough for the memories of the earlier event to peek through. And when they do, it’s already far too much. </p><p>
  <em>       The Beast had asked him a question. With breath that stuck of rot and mildew, he wove a phrase that staked Yeosang through the heart. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       Are you ready to go home, Kang Yeosang?’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       And then, in a flash, someone else was there. With a blast of light and a deafening cacophony, The Beast was sent flying through the air. The newcomer, screaming obscenities, materialized what seemed to be a golden hourglass. Flipping it upside down on Yeosang’s desk, the sand began to flow upwards. And then suddenly, the charm that had been cast over the room was lifted. All at once, the world began to spin again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       Yeosang, springing up from his seat, flew to San’s side. To his relief, the man was still breathing. The blonde had not been trained in true Healing. Rather, he only knew the few signs that Seonghwa had used on him with minor injuries. Still, it was better than nothing.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       As the green glow began to radiate from his palms, Wooyoung slid to his side. His breathing heavy and frantic, he intertwined his fingers with San’s limp ones. “You can’t leave me,” he whispered. The confession from his best friend was unexpected. However, he could not feel the same energy that San’s body still gave off. At least, he thought that it was about San until Wooyoung was wrapping his arms around Yeosang’s torso. “Yeosangie, you can’t go with that thing.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       “I won’t,” the blonde whispered, gaze not lifting from the light emanating from his skin. “You know I would never.” In the background, a deafening crash shook the tall glass window panes. Yeosang’s palms stilled, spell faltering, as his head whips in the direction of the sound.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       There, the newcomer stands. Professor Kang, fury burning in his eyes, casts another rapid bolt of light from his fingertips. The deep red tone slings forward, rubberbanding off of the nearest wall, and slams into The Beast’s back. One after another, the magician fires off the same enchantment. Battle Magic, Yeosang processes at half-speed.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       Maddox as well seems to have regained his composure. Rather than joining the fight at Kang’s side, he instead works to shepard the remaining students out of the room. Every so often, his gaze falls onto Eden’s still form. The man was still breathing, somehow, but each intake was labored and ragged. For a moment, Yeosang finds himself wondering exactly what the Battle Magic professor’s relationship was with the headmaster. He’s ripped from his thoughts, however, as a blast of yellow flits through the room. When it hits The Beast, his suit erupts into flames. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       “Yeojun! Out of everything, why did you pick fire?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       Yeosang’s attention flies to the set of five students from earlier. The yellow-haired one stands with a look of defiance as his friends try to pull him beneath the safety of the desks. He doesn’t answer, however, instead sprinting to stand next to Professor Kang. The older man’s billowing cloak makes him look less like their orientation leader and more like a powerful knight sent from another universe. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       “I figured fire is always a good option,” he laughs, hardly sparing Kang a glance. The Beast screams, stumbling in the direction of the mirror. Rather, where the mirror once was. The air around the space ripples, hinting that the object is still there, but obscured from view. An Illusion.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       Yunho stands to the side, his fingers positioned like a steeple, as he glamours the looking glass. Mingi, on the other hand, was bending the tree branches just outside the window to block out some of the sunlight. The darkness allowed Yunho’s spell to truly hide the mirror. They were trying to force the creature back into whatever dimension it stumbled out of– without him realizing it. Suddenly, everything seems to make sense.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       “Stay with San,” Yeosang whispers to Wooyoung, presses a quick kiss to his forehead, before jolting himself off of the floor. The backs of his knees are damp with sticky sweat and his body shakes, but that does not stop him from sliding into place next to Eden.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       The headmaster’s eyes are closed and it is obvious that he is unconscious. However, that does not mean that he is resting peacefully. With every breath, his brows pinch and the corner of his lips tug downwards. It was only a matter of time before things got worse. With a shaky sigh, Yeosang settles his palms over the man’s eyes, ignoring the wet, gummy touch of his blood pressed against his skin. The goal was to cauterize the wound, something most Healing students wouldn’t learn until their second semester of Emergency Response. But he was a Necromancer. Caring for living things wasn’t his forte. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       Just as the glow begins to pool from his fingertips again, a blur shoots past him. Glancing up, he sees Wooyoung flinging his full body at The Beast. It happens so quickly that Yeosang can feel his heart lurch into his throat as the younger man uses all of his weight to slam that moth-bound figure through the mirror portal. They both vanish from existence just as the glass teeters and tumbles onto the hardwood floor. When it shatters, so does every last bit of Yeosang’s resolve. Shards tinkle like tiny seashells across the ocean floor; a melody no one would ever forget. And then, the room is silent.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       As though all action stilled to a close, no one moved. No one dared to. The high-pitched, guttural scream that fills the air is the first sound to return to the atmosphere. He doesn’t realize that it is coming out of his own mouth until San, disoriented and barely conscious, is pulling Yeosang into his arms. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       Time passes like that. No one breathing, not really, until the pounding sound of footsteps echoes down the corridor like war drums. He does not know how long San whispers into his hair. He does not know how long the feeling of the other man’s fingers brush the small of his back. He doesn’t even know when Hongjoong joins the pile. What he does know is that Wooyoung is gone.  </em>
</p><p>      Now, he feels Seonghwa’s presence before the other man announces it. The Healer pulls him from the floor, excusing them both, and guides him through the bloodied room like a lodestar. When he catches his reflection in a classroom window, he nearly leaps out of his skin. His blonde hair is streaked with crimson and clumped in nearly a dozen different spots. The white sweater he wore today looks like it met the wrong end of a gore-filled power washer. He numbly notices the way Seonghwa holds his elbow as though it was the only thing keeping him attached to this universe. For all he knows, it might be. </p><p>      The man doesn’t speak, even as he strips off the jacket he was wearing and places it gently over Yeosang’s shoulders. When the younger tries to protest, begging him not to dirty his clothing, Seonghwa shoots him a look full of poorly concealed concern. It’s the first time his facade breaks. The second isn’t until they see Hongjoong standing just outside of the Physical Kids’ cottage, the other four members of their friend group in tow, that Seonghwa shatters. </p><p>      When they are all piled into Yeosang’s small room, curling around each other like a pit of cuddly snakes, Seonghwa holds him against his chest. His breathing is unsteady and punctuated by sobs. The older man shakes uncontrollably, repeating the same five words over and over. <em> We should have been there.  </em></p><p>      “You didn’t know,” Yeosang says softly, not fighting the other’s hold. Hongjoong has sandwiched the three of them together, but that does not stop Jongho, Mingi, Yunho, and San from snuggling around them as well. Yeosang’s bed was not made for seven grown men, but they find a way. They always find a way.</p><p>      It is hard to find words. Over the next twenty-four hours, San does not leave Yeosang’s bedroom. Truly, none of the members leave the cottage in the first place. Hongjoong offers his bed to Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho when he realizes that the three do not want to go back to their own disciplines. Who wants to be alone?</p><p>      San covers all of the mirrors and Yeosang does not stop him. In his dreams, he sees Wooyoung. The brunette is standing in an apple orchard wearing a pale blue sleeveless pantsuit. Around the bottom edge of the suit’s tank rests a billowing set of sheer layered-skirts that fall to rest midthigh. The longest one hits the back of his calves when the wind isn’t pushing the scent of blossoms through its fabric. When he turns, his eyes catch the warmth of the setting sun. And he is beautiful.</p><p>      For a moment, it seems like he notices Yeosang there. As though the man before him is not a mirage of his own heart’s desires. Instead, his gaze continues to move past him. It lands on something– <em> no, someone else </em> and he jogs out of sight just as the other person calls to him. The voice is familiar, painfully so, but it does not strike up an identity by the time Yeosang is startling himself awake.</p><p>      In the pale moonlight, he glances around the room slowly. It’s disorienting to see so many dark figures on his bed. Seonghwa is at one edge, his arm thrown over Hongjoong’s waist, but his fingers intertwined with Yeosang’s. Which means that the heavy limb over his own stomach belongs to San. He traces the shape until it leads him to the owner’s face. </p><p>      Choi San is ethereal. It is a fact that he has known since the two of them first met, however, seeing the man sleeping soundly is a different experience entirely. His smooth features are crystalline and sharp in the saturated moonrays. The blonde lets his focus linger for a moment longer than usual. It follows the steady curve of his chin and the dip of his neck. He has never seen the constellation of freckles that dances on his throat. Yeosang thumbs at the tender skin, brushing against it like a painter caring for the iridescence of dew drops on fallen leaves, before he realizes exactly what he is doing. </p><p>      With a soft gasp, he wriggles out of the younger’s hold and gently untangles himself from his boyfriends. When his socked feet hit the chilly floor, he frowns. It’s an unfamiliar sensation and definitely proves that exhaustion is what knocked him out earlier. Who the fuck wears socks to bed? </p><p>      It’s only as he lets himself move toward the bathroom that he hears it. The dream isn’t what woke him. Instead, it is the sound of something tapping on glass. It happens once, twice, and then stops. And then again, once; twice. It’s a repetitive motion that could be disguised as an outside tree branch jostling against the window. However, he knows better. </p><p>      As though his heart is soaring through the clouds, he tears after the noise. The message. As children, Yeosang and Wooyoung would use a subtle code to communicate while their parents were home late at night. If they needed attention, the secret was to scale the large oak between their houses and throw acorns at the glass pane of the other’s bedroom window. Two at a time. </p><p>      Sliding into the bathroom, he feels his chest constrict. There, the sound emanates; from behind the sheet San hung over the mirror. Why couldn’t it have been a window? Breathing erratic, there is a moment where he sees The Beast. He hears the fluttering of moth wings. He smells decay.</p><p>      But then, he sees Wooyoung. He feels the sunlight of his best friend’s smile. The radiance of his laugh. Beast be damned, he would not lose the brunette twice. His fingers surge forward and tear the fabric away from the glass. And he is blessed.</p><p>      Wooyoung stands on the other side; wearing the outfit that Yeosang had seen in his dream. His hair has been pulled into two dainty braids and his eyes painted with shimmering gold. And when they focus on the blonde, his face spills into molten grace. His lips move quickly, spilling secrets that Yeosang is not privy to, as no sound actually meets his ears. Instead, he is filled with silence. </p><p>      “I can’t hear you,” Yeosang mumbles, fighting the tears that prick at the corners of his eyes. The brunette stops abruptly, eyebrows furrowing, before he dives back in. This time, his gestures grow extravagant. Frantic. “Woo, I don’t know what you’re saying. Are you alright?”</p><p>      Wooyoung stills. He frowns, but nods in response. Carefully, his arms cross over his chest<em> . Leave it to this big nerd to pout at a time like this, </em>Yeosang thinks with a humorless chuckle. Sorrow has never tasted so bittersweet.</p><p>      “Baby, where are you?” he asks, letting the old pet name slip without a second thought. Wooyoung catches it, obviously, as his mouth pours into a blinding smile. He says something again, too fast for Yeosang to even try to read his lips, and then rolls his eyes when Yeosang repeats the question.</p><p>      Then, the brunette does something unexpected. He leans forward, cupping his hands around his mouth, and blows hot air onto his side of the mirror. For a split second, Yeosang catches the birthmark on his lower lip in the dim light. And then, the man writes something in the thin layer of mist. </p><p>
  <em>       ‘AVALON.’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="userstuff module">
  <p>
    <em>🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, starlight! Thanks for reading.</p><p>Follow me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji<br/>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>- Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. mosaic gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW: Implied Sexual Content; Relationship Struggles ✧</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>“Cheers darlin'; here's to you and your lover boy.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Cheers darlin'; I got years to wait around for you.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Cheers darlin'; I've got your wedding bells in my ear.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Cheers darlin'; you give me three cigarettes to smoke my tears away.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>And I die when you mention his name.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>And I lied, I should have kissed you when we were running in the rain.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>What am I darlin'?</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>A whisper in your ear?</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>A piece of your cake?</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>What am I, darlin?</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>The boy you can fear?</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Or your biggest mistake?”</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <b>
        <em>Cheers Darlin’ - </em>
      </b>
      <em>
        <span>Damien Rice</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <hr/>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>
    <em>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </em>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      They don’t dare move a muscle, an inch, as the word settles onto the glass between them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Avalon</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Why did it always have to come back to this? Yeosang blinks slowly, his eyes drying out from the strain of keeping them locked onto Wooyoung’s, and the relief that pools within him is hardly enough to make him feel even slightly better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Avalon,” he whispers, staring at his best friend. The reflection of him, at least, because who knew how much of the man was actually there. “The Beast took you to Avalon?” Wooyoung nods quickly; the pout on his lips growing larger when he glances into the middle distance. For a second, Yeosang feels like he should look over his own shoulder. And then, he remembers that the two of them are not in the same room. The same universe, even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung bobs his head, agreeing with whatever someone says to him, and then directs his attention back to Yeosang’s face. With a frown, he tries to say something, explain it rather, but the image flickers. It’s impossible to read his lips. It’s impossible to do anything as he calls out, softly, before the man waves and vanishes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jung Wooyoung is alive. And for now, that’s all that matters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Or so he tells himself. Yet, he still crumples to the floor, clutching the shag rug in front of the sink. His fingers drag through the material over and over, growing raw and sore with every movement, but he doesn’t stop. He just wants to feel something. He wants his chest to stop burning like he swallowed a match and let it burrow in his lungs. He wonders if it made a sound when it landed. He wonders if he made a sound when he hit the tile floor of the bathroom. He wonders if he is making any right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      That’s how San finds him. Yeosang is curled in on himself, eyes damp and body excoriated. The brunette makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, a weird cross between a coo and a cry, before he joins him on the cold floor. His bare thighs press into the ridgid edge of the cabinet beside them, but San doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he pulls the blonde into his arms, Yeosang’s back to his chest, and lets the tears roll. Maybe, in this moment, San’s mind is quiet. That’s all Yeosang can ask for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A breath of silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When Seonghwa and Hongjoong wake up, that is where they stumble across the two. Wrapped around each other like ivy on brick, they seek out only the love that they feel matches the loss within their hearts. And when they find it within each other, Hongjoong doesn’t have it within himself to wake them. His room is just down the hall and the bathroom there works just as well, even if there are three other sleepyheads dwelling in his personal space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With the morning comes the tender embrace of something unspoken. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Desire</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not the kind found within the skin of another, but the one of the heart and mind. The hidden recess that always lingers and persists. Not the one born of lust of skinship; the other form of intimacy. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      The desire to be known. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      Everyone makes it visible just how shaken they are. Classes for the rest of the week had been cancelled after Utopia discovered the protective barriers around the school had been torn down. Deteriorated, rather. As an Illusionist, Yunho should be there; standing with his discipline and working to mend the holes. However, he was given a personal notice. Stay home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Maddox did not want those from the first-year Battle Magic course to insert themselves further into the situation. Which was promptly what Yeosang was going to spend his time off doing. As soon as he was wearing something vaguely presentable, he was out the door and down the pathway before anyone could stop him. What he didn’t expect was San to appear at his side just as he turned toward the library stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What are you doing?” Yeosang grumbles as they climb the steep concrete steps. “I thought you were going to take the day off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re going to research shit, aren’t you?” San asks, keeping pace with the blonde. “I want in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You want in?” Yeosang’s eyebrow quirks. “What do you think this is? A game that you can hop on board with?” He pushes past the younger man, not stopping even when San stands stone still. Just as he presses the ‘up’ button on the elevator keypad, calling it to their floor slowly, the brunette slams a palm against the wall behind Yeosang. It traps the older in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Wooyoung is my boyfriend,” the man growls, eyes narrow. “He’s just as important to me as he is to you. Don’t act like you’re the only person that loves him. And especially don’t pretend that we’re not all fucked up after whatever that was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The lift dings as it settles onto the second floor. For a moment, Yeosang considers bolting into it. But then, San is roughly dragging him by the wrist in that direction anyways. For the first time, Yeosang sees the man as something different. Someone dangerous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Saying nothing, they walk through the stacks of the library’s seventh floor. No one appears to have come that far up today. Why would they? Their headmaster was lying in a bed, unconscious and fighting to regain control of his own body, and there was no point to study. They were just meant to survive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang’s phone vibrates in his pocket over and over. He knows that it is Seonghwa or Hongjoong, but he can’t bring himself to speak to them. He can’t bring himself to even look at them right now. Their faces are so full of love and adoration. His is so full of terror and disappointment. He thinks of the flowers sitting on his desk, cradled by a crystalline vase, and wonders how long they will stay brilliant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What are you expecting to find?” San asks as he flickers into existence beside the blonde. Yeosang hadn’t even noticed him disappearing in the first place nor did he expect to see him reappear with an arm load of books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I need information on portals,” he frowns, glancing at the stack that San cradles. “Mirror dimensions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You said he was in the mirror,” the brunette mumbles, ushering them to a nearby table. “I figured that it could be an alternate universe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang raises a single brow. “You believe in those?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The look San gives him is disappointed at best. “What? You don’t?” When the older man doesn't answer, San plops into the ancient desk chair with a sigh. “You can bring people back from the dead, but you don’t think there are parallel worlds? What kind of wack-ass logic is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The kind,” Yeosang says, lowering himself into his seat, “that doesn’t lead to me losing my mind to all of the possibilities. I need guarantees; not chances.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He hardly catches San’s voice as the man mumbles something under his breath. But, he does. He hears the bitter phrase as it falls through the air like acid rain. “Stop making people give you them, then.” Yeosang does not respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hours later, San blips out of sight again and returns with a full bottle of red wine. Yeosang, nose buried in a book, only realizes that the peace offering is being slid across the table towards him when the glass bottom scrapes across the wooden surface with a screech. The blonde eyes it suspiciously, carefully marking his place in Talbot’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>A Mystery Between Worlds: Parallel Dimensions and Reflected Histories. </span>
  </em>
  <span>San grins and nudges it closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We haven’t had dinner,” the brunette says. “I figured your stomach needed something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You could have grabbed sandwiches if you actually wanted to feed me,” Yeosang mutters, but casts a quick charm that sends the cork flying. “It’s probably not the brightest idea for me to drink on an empty stomach.” He takes a swig anyways. The rich flavor settles over his tongue, its bitter undertones hardly dipping too far into the realm of unpleasant, and he immediately wonders just how San knew he preferred Barefoot’s sweet red. It was probably a lucky guess; the majority of the world liked this brand afterall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San’s fingers wrap around the bottle, pulling it to his side of the table, and he waterfalls the deep liquid into his own mouth. Yeosang pretends not to notice the way the burgundy beads linger on his lips and the corners where they meet. He most certainly doesn't notice the way the man’s throat bobs as he swallows. He doesn’t notice anything, he swears, aside from the way San’s gaze lingers on him for a breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And he doesn’t notice the taste of the alcohol still on the brunette’s tongue when he smashes their lips together. It’s only a minute. But it is still long enough for San to teleport into his lap and straddle his hips. It’s long enough for a mistake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang’s palm is on his chest, pushing him away, before his fingers can find their way into the blonde’s hair. “Don’t do this,” he whispers, San’s hot breath still lingering on his mouth. “Please, San, don’t do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The younger man pulls away, biting his bottom lip. He gnaws in silence until a crimson puddle begins to pool; mimicking Wooyoung’s birthmark. And then finally, Yeosang spots the tears that well up against the waterline of his eyes. It’s a sight that makes his breath catch painfully in his throat as he carefully places a palm against his cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hey, hey,” he soothes softly. “Why are you crying?”San shakes his head. The corners of his lips twitch upward, like he is trying to force a smile, before the effort shatters him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I miss him,” he mumbles, lifting his thumb to his mouth. He chews on a hangnail, not meeting Yeosang’s stare, and shies away when the older tries to brush away the rolling tears. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t–” he cuts himself off, teleporting off of Yeosang’s lap and back into his own seat. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “San, don’t be sorry,” he says. Carefully, he reaches across the table and smiles sympathetically when the boy intertwines their fingers. “We’re in this together. We’ll get him back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San gives him a sheepish look. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. And then, a deep sigh and groan later, he is speaking quickly. “It’s not just Wooyoung.” His eyes do not meet Yeosang’s as he continues with calculated precision. San is agile with his words as he delivers them one after another. “You exist. And every time I think about that little detail, my heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. I love Wooyoung, but I also think I might feel something for you.” The confession comes as a rush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang blinks slowly, trying to process the magician’s words, before his mouth drops open. “You can’t,” the blonde finally utters, pulling his hand away. It isn’t a fast movement, and most certainly shouldn’t come across as him having been scalded by San’s flesh, but it does. San makes a panicked noise and recoils as though Yeosang is going to lash out. “San, I don’t mean it like that I…” he stops. What could he say? There had always been something there when he looked at the brunette. Something there that never should have been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You have Hongjoong and Seonghwa,” San states plainly. “I know that, Yeosang. I just don’t really like keeping secrets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Does Wooyoung know?” It’s a difficult question to ask. When San nods quietly, Yeosang feels his heart plummet into his stomach like a comet. “Does he mind that you feel that way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No!” The yell bounces off of the walls like a bullet. “He would never be upset about something like that.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something like that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Did he really mean so little to Wooyoung romantically that he would have no problem with his own boyfriend pursuing him? With a frown, Yeosang sinks into his chair. With the silence grows violent, San slides the bottle of wine back across the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang picks it up, drinking half of it in one go, and slams it back down. Tonight was not about them. He knew that, and yet, the further his mind drifted into the pile of books at their side, he realized they were getting nowhere. Or maybe he would have, if San didn’t keep disappearing long enough to grab more alcohol from the Physical Kids’ stock. Maybe, he would if he didn’t hear himself say the words to the other man that he knew would be their storm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Kiss me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In the morning, he wakes up in his own bed. For a moment, he can’t breathe. He can feel the press of someone’s bare skin against his back; their thigh between his legs. He can feel the sticky residue of </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever </span>
  </em>
  <span>was left on them. And he feels filthy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And then, he cracks a single eye open, braving to see exactly who is in his bed. Rather than the mop of dark black he one-hundred percent expects, however, a fluffy mound of blue sticks just out of the covers. Hongjoong groans when Yeosang sighs. He presses a quick kiss to the older’s head before rolling onto his other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      There, he comes face to face with Seonghwa. Evidently, the other is already awake as their focus locks onto each other instantly. The eldest smiles and dots his nose with a quick peck. “Morning,” he whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hyung,” Yeosang mumbles, snuggling closer when the man’s arms wrap around his waist. “How drunk was I last night?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa hums; thinking intensely about the question. “You were three sheets to the wind, love.” He stops and studies the younger blonde. “We didn’t have sex with you. You know we wouldn’t when you can’t consent,” he says seriously. “Not that you didn’t try, however.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Then, why?” He motions to Hongjoong’s sleeping form and the trio’s lack of clothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’ve always enjoyed just watching and taking care of things yourself, huh?” With Seonghwa’s laugh, Yeosang flushes deeply. “San was here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The statement throws him for a loop. The brunette was nowhere to be seen now, which could only mean that he didn’t stay the night. Sensing his confusion, Seonghwa runs his fingers through the blonde strands that fan against the sheets. The sensation makes Yeosang nearly purr. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He dropped you off and demanded that we treat you to a nice night of self-care and movies. Then, he disappeared.” Yeosang frowns as Seonghwa scratches his scalp tenderly. “Did something happen between you two, Sangie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You could say that,” he mutters, pressing his lips to Seonghwa’s collarbone. “I’ll tell you later. Right now, I need a shower.” Seonghwa chuckles, but frees him from his vice grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When later comes, they’re sitting at the kitchen table. Hongjoong places a slimy looking orange drink in front of him before taking a seat across the french oak surface. Yeosang glances at it and raises an eyebrow. A sniff later sends him nearly barreling for the bin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What the fuck is that?” he hisses, eyeing his boyfriend suspiciously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Apple juice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Don’t lie to me, you demon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa cackles and answers for the blue-haired man. “It is partially apple juice, baby. But it's mostly fresh ginger and carrot juice.” Yeosang gags as the other two fall into heavy laughter. “It’s for your hangover.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I don’t have a hangover,” Yeosang grumbles while sipping on the drink. There was no sense in complaining when it was obvious that the older men were just trying to help him. Bless their souls, truly. Once the liquid hits his tongue, he spits it back into the glass and covers his mouth. “Is that salad dressing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong whacks him from across the table with an indignant sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So,” Seonghwa says, drawing attention like a tempest. “What happened between you and San?” For a moment, Yeosang had forgotten how perceptive the older was. Or rather, he had really just not remembered their earlier conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He could lie. He could tell a half-truth. He could betray the trust the other two men have in him. Instead, he just sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We kissed,” he says. “I didn’t push him off at first, but eventually I did when I realized what was happening.” He studies his hands. “I’ve been in love with Wooyoung for as long as I can remember. When he got with San, I thought it would all be over as quick as it started. But then, I figured out that  San was a more permanent fixture in our lives.” He groans, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “See, I even did it right there. Our lives. Wooyoung’s life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Neither man speaks. Instead, they let him pour it all out onto the table like spilled salt. And for once, he does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “San told me that he has feelings for me. And that Wooyoung knows, but doesn’t care. It was like getting stabbed, you know?” he says, folding his arms on the table. “The man I spent years falling in love with doesn’t mind the fact that his boyfriend has a itty-bitty crush on his best friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When the quiet rains over them, Hongjoong’s fingers wrap around his elbow gently. He stays there like that, the yellow-polished pinky of his right hand hardly visible through the wrinkles in Yeosang’s hoodie. And then, he speaks softly, slowly. With every word, Yeosang feels the crack in his heart fissure and spread. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Would being with San make you happy, starshine?” he asks, rubbing a small circle into the fabric. Yeosang’s eyes widen as he lifts his head. His neck screeches in agony with the sudden movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What?” he gasps. “I am happy. With you both. I don’t–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Baby, that’s not what I asked,” Hongjoong mumbles, his blue hair obscuring his features significantly. “Would being in a relationship with San make you just as happy?” He heard him the first time. Yeosang cannot protest with the same words; not when he knows what Hongjoong is asking. Not when Seonghwa stares at him with those galaxy filled eyes. Not when his heart hinges on the corner of a slamming door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It would make me just as happy, yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Then, try it.” Seonghwa offers the suggestion like a desire delivered on a silver platter. At first, Yeosang searches his face for some sense of humor. Something sarcastic that begs ‘don’t actually listen to me’. Instead, he’s met with the same brilliant, shining smile full of affection that the blonde has always shown him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why? Why would you guys encourage me to see someone else?” Yeosang asks. Hongjoong’s fingers still on his arm. The older man sighs, pulling his hand away slowly, and leans against the wooden backrest of his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Because we love you; and we know you love us, so close your mouth before flies get in.” Hongjoong grins when Yeosang’s jaw snaps shut. How dare he see right through him like that. “You are a joy, Kang Yeosang, but you don’t see your worth no matter how hard anyone shoves it back at you. We will always be here, but that doesn’t mean that we are the only treasure you can have. See if something else makes you realize how special you are, love. I promise that we could never take that chance away from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa rounds the table and pulls Yeosang into his arms. “You have never been a burden and you never will be. If things don’t work out between you and San, just know that you are not alone. We love you, Yeosang. Romantically, of course, but platonically as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Maybe, Yeosang does not expect to sob so early in the morning. Yet, that is exactly what he does. He only just manages to get his emotions under control when the particular cause for his distress flickers into the room like a ghast. Letting out a yelp, Yeosang tumbles into Seonghwa’s chest just as San’s boots hit the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Maddox,” San says quickly, “he needs us. Now. Portal to the infirmary while I go tell the others.” Before San can travel again, Yeosang’s hand is shooting out to wrap around his bicep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “How do you know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He told me,” San answers, pointing at his temple. “Motherfucker is loud as hell when he wants to be.” And with that, the man is gone. His form vibrates in Yeosang’s grip before it pops out of existence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong places his left hand into an open-vertical position and crooks his right index finger so that his middle phalanx presses firmly to the center of his left palm. Twisting the shape counter-clockwise, like a key in a lock, he generates a small ball of clear energy in the slightly open palm of his right hand. Balancing it carefully, he uses his left hand to cup one side of the orb while pulling downward and then casts the shape out into the air. A portal tears into the kitchen easily, opening directly through to the infirmary waiting room, and Seonghwa makes a panicked noise in the back of his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re going to scare the patients,” he mumbles, crossing over the threshold of the barrier anyways. Hongjoong rolls his eyes, but gestures for Yeosang to follow with a smile. The blonde can feel that sore fissure of oversensitivity build in his throat like it cannot decide whether he should cry or give up entirely. When Hongjoong’s warm hand settles on the small of his back, he thinks that best option might be the former.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Maddox is already there standing side-by-side with Professor Kang. Aside from them, the entire space is empty. When the two spot the trio, they wave them over quickly. At first, the only reason Yeosang can think of that would make the acting headmaster summon them would be none other than Eden. A bitter panic rises in his chest at the thought of the Master of Knowledge’s possible passing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Is Eden alright?” Hongjoong asks first, his face contorting into something devastating. Eden was like a father to the blue-haired magician. To see him lose someone so precious would be enough to make even the strong-willed man crumple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He’s fine,” Maddox says carefully, eyes flitting around the room in search of the others. “This doesn’t exactly involve him. Rather, it is the exact thing he has wanted to avoid since you all came together.” It is just then that another portal opens into the space. Yunho, Jongho, Mingi, and San spill through like marbles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jongho bounces lightly on his heels, unsteady from the fall, and grunts when Mingi’s hands shoot out to steady him. Yunho works quickly to position the crutches beneath Jongho’s arms. With a sigh, the youngest rolls his eyes and bats at Mingi’s large palms still settled around his waist. The strawberry blonde whispers a soft apology as San just rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’ll never believe what I walked in on–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “San!” Yunho barks, frantically gesturing for the man to stop whatever secret is about to spill from his lips. “Not right now, please.” When the brunette giggles mischievously, he almost looks like his old self. The one that fed off of Wooyoung’s energy and acted like a walkie-talkie placed next to its mate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Maddox clears his throat, hiding a smile behind one of his open palms, and glances at the seven magicians before him. “Hello again, boys. I’m sorry our last meeting was cut short by unfortunate circumstances. As you know by now, Utopia is no longer safe. The barrier was breached by a creature that appears to have been given access to the school through an unsupervised ritual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When his stare lands on Jongho and Yeosang, the room fills with a brittle iciness. Yeosang bristles, prepared to defend the younger, just as Professor Kang puts a hand on his arm. Gently, the man unfurls the Necromancer’s fist and rubs at the tender crescents he dug into the sensitive flesh. He does not speak. Instead, he shakes his head lightly and allows a delicate green light to thumb over the small incisions. Yeosang watches closely as the skin mends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You should be more careful,” Kang whispers, lifting his head. The brown strands flop into his eyes messily as he gives the boy a warm look. “You only have two of these. And it appears they’ve been marked up beyond belief already at your young age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m almost twenty-three,” Yeosang mumbles, narrowing his eyes. “I mean no offense, Professor Kang, but can we please get to the point? I have plans–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “To stick your nose back in portaling textbooks?” Maddox interrupts with a frown. “You’re never going to find the answers you need there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And why do you think you have what we need?” San asks abruptly, positioning himself directly next to Yeosang. “Wooyoung is in Avalon, a place we thought was fiction until recently. Is there a reason that you would know how to get there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Maddox scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Beside him, Kang smirks, but stays silent as his co-worker seems to think over his next words carefully. When he settles on them, his eyes light up with a spark. The brunette shrugs as he speaks; playing at innocence. However, his voice does anything but.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I don’t know how to get to Avalon. Though, Professor Kang is talented when it comes to walking between worlds.” As he says it, the room whirls to face the quiet professor. The man grumbles as a sheepish look spreads across his features. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I suppose a proper introduction is necessary,” he says, rubbing a palm over his face. When he looks up, the expression seems to have transformed from the reserved man who led their orientation learning community to someone refined. “My name is Kang Yuchan. I was born here, on Earth, and actually came to Utopia to study magic a few years ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “A hundred years ago,” Maddox snarks, earning an elbow to the rib.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “A little more than a few years. Get off your high horse, Maddox.” The Battle Magic professor cackles as Kang continues. “When I was a child, during the Victorian era, my parents lost a bet with a Faery rogue. I was spirited away to the Unseelie Court and replaced in my human life by a Fae child. Everything they say about the Tír na nÓg is true. It is a bloody, ruthless place. Death is at every turn and war is simply a dance the Fae enjoy more than life itself. I was lucky, though. On a mission into a neighboring kingdom, I met the King of Avalon. He took me under his wing as one of the royal knights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang cannot stop the gasp that leaves his throat. For the first time in weeks, he feels like he is pulling enough air into his lungs to really, truly breathe. “You’re Chan. You’re one of the A.C.E guards.” Kang nods with a smile and offers the magician a low bow. Beside him, San nearly squeals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “From </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Treasure Key?</span>
  </em>
  <span> You were my idol for years. I can’t even tell you how many times I tried to become a sorcerer.” He meets Yeosang’s gaze for a split second. It’s filled to the brim with childish fantasy and imagination. For a moment, Yeosang can picture it. San sitting on the floor of his room, pouring over ‘spells’, and trying to summon even a spark or flame. Little did the boy know, there was no hope for him to do anything like that. His abilities were far more interesting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “An honor, San,” Chan says with a soft smile. “I hope that I meet your expectations. However, as much as I would like to talk </span>
  <em>
    <span>Treasure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I need to cover the important bits. You want to see Wooyoung again, correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Good,” Chan begins slowly. “As Maddox said, I can jump the line between here and the realm of the Fae. I, like San, am a Traveller.” He pauses, taking a breath. “The creature that attacked you is not from my world nor is it from yours. The Beast appears to have been created in the liminal space that exists between this universe and the Tír na nÓg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The gate,” Yeosang supplies, bombarded by the image. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Precisely. Due to that, we cannot determine where he exists at any given moment. It seems that he can move freely; when given an invitation. And there are plenty of those in the hands of the Fae, that much I can promise you. It is not often that someone passes up the opportunity for magical prowess at their fingertips; bloodthirsty beast or otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang’s body shakes as he thinks of Wooyoung, alone and afraid, in Avalon. He appeared to be in good hands, however, was that the same as safe? San, seeing the way Yeosang curls in on himself, intertwines their fingers silently. Hongjoong repeats the action on his other side; unbothered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So, how do we get to Avalon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Chan’s eyes twinkle as he turns toward the blank wall of the infirmary waiting room. “Do you want to see?” When the group nods anxiously, he presses his palms together. From there, he separates each set of mirrored fingers one at a time before sliding his right hand down past his wrist quickly. From there, he repeats the same gesture that Hongjoong used to open their portal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Before them, the wall flickers and sizzles before a ring of golden light expands to create a circular doorway. In the distant, Yeosang can see the Gate of Truth looming like a nightmarish beacon. Chan motions for them to step through, and against his better judgment, Yeosang pulls Hongjoong and San with him. At some point, the boys must have formed a daisy-chain of hand holding because a domino effect drags them through one after another. Yeosang only catches a glimpse of Maddox, alone, still in the waiting room before Chan closes the barrier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sorry there wasn’t a lot of time to prepare,” he says, leading the boys toward the gate. “Also, sorry for all the times we met here, Yeosang. You have no idea how hard it is to astral project into someone’s dreams when you’re not inclined to that particular discipline.” For a moment, Yeosang doesn’t process it. And then, it hits him like a red, hot star to the gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re the British boy?” he whispers, tracing Chan’s form in search of any portion of similarity. There are a few, just barely, but the most notable would have to be the faint accent that lies just beneath his tone. Of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Chan grins. “Young me had a much thicker accent, if that is what you’re looking for. Avalon seems to ripped that out of me quite quickly.” He pushes against the gate until its hinges screech loudly. “And speaking of the land herself,” he says as the light spills over them. “Welcome to Avalon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Within seconds, the warm air brushes over their skin like glitter in a parade. Summer dances around them, the wafting scent of apples swaying in the breeze. The group stands in the center of a massive clearing. As his focus shifts around, adjusting to the vivid natural notes, something catches his attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      At the base of a massive tree, four moss covered gravestones rest. He recognizes them, not just from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Treasure,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but his own memory. Chan had shown him these during the first dream. And when he fixates on the names again, he realizes why. Kim Maddox and Kim Yonghwan. Maddox and Eden. However, these were not the men that he knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “This is a parallel universe,” Yeosang whispers, watching the way San’s face brightens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I fucking told you, skeleton boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It’s then that a voice startles them from the revelation. “It would do you well not to speak to my father in such a tone.” The girl before them is tiny. Her eyes are a deep fuschia, a color identical to the flower itself, and her hair is a spring pink. Cut into a clean bob, two strands on either side are braided back and held together behind her head with a simple floral pin. When she moves, however, Yeosang catches a glimpse of the dagger strapped to her thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She comes to a stop in front of him with a peculiar look dancing in her eye. “Father,” she says with a bow, “I apologize if this comes off as informal or impolite, but why are your ears so ugly?” He gasps, taking a step back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      There was no way in hell he had a child. He had slept with one woman in his entire life and only two years had passed since then. The girl before him was practically their age. It is then that he zeroes in on the shape of her ears. They are small and almost human-like, however, they bend and curve into sharp points at the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A Faery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, starlights! Thanks for reading.</p><p>Find me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji<br/>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>*You are 100% allowed to DM me at any time with questions, concerns, or just to chat about the weather.</p><p>- Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. king's yellow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>“But you'll fight and you'll make it through.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>You'll fake it if you have to and you'll show up for work with a smile.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>You'll be better and you'll be smarter and more grown up.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>And a better daughter or son and a real good friend and you'll be awake.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>You'll be alert, you'll be positive though it hurts.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>And you'll laugh and embrace all your friends.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>You'll be a real good listener, you'll be honest, you'll be brave.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>You'll be handsome and you'll be beautiful.”</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p><p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <b>
        <em>A Better Son/Daughter</em>
      </b>
      <em>
        <span> - Rilo Kiley</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
<hr/><p>
    <em>
      <span>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </span>
    </em>
  </p></blockquote><p>
  <span>      “Easy there, Bom,” Chan says, finally moving out from behind Mingi and Yunho’s tall figures. The girl makes a soft noise of surprise before her gaze tears between Yeosang and the professor like a bullet. Her pink hair whips around her in the breeze as she stumbles back a step, hand falling to the dagger on her thigh. “Bom, it’s just me.” Chan sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “How should I know to trust you? Perhaps you were mislead by this group of uncanny bandits.” She gestures at the magicians. “I will say, your glamours are all quite well done. I cannot sense a seam in the magic surrounding you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeosang,” San whispers, leaning against his side. “I think your elf-child is considering murder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I am not an elf, you oaf!” Bom barks, fingers curling around the handle of her knife. “Step away from my father or allow me to show you exactly what I am.” San’s eyes widen with the threat, but he doesn’t move an inch. Not even when the sound of Jongho’s crutches plants him directly behind the duo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I really hate to ask this, but can we please get moving? You can kill us all later if you really want to, but right now, I need to sit down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sorry, Jongho, let’s just—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Dad?” Bom utters softly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Why are you injured? You were supposed to stay in Neafri. The alliance—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jongho gasps into his palm. He glances between the girl and Yeosang, fear flitting across his features. For a moment, no one breathes. And then, Mingi is immediately cackling into the spring air like a rampant kookaburra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You and Yeosang</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Mingi guffaws, bending over at the waist. “In what world? You have a kid!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Song Mingi,” Chan’s voice is low. “It will do you well right now to not do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Do what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Laugh at your boyfriend while a Faery warrior stands before you with a laced dagger,” Chan informs slowly, gaze not leaving Mingi’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      "He's not my boyfriend." The words come out slowly. Defensively. And in an instant, Yeosang feels like he has missed of his friends' lives. Evidently, he isn't the only one. Behind him, Seonghwa makes a bizarre face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I thought…” His words filter off as he glances between Yunho and Mingi. “Never mind,” he whispers. Yeosang knows exactly what he wanted to say, though. It was the same question he had on his lips nearly a hundred times before. Why were Mingi and Yunho avoiding their relationship? And really, what was Jongho to both of them? Maybe, in time, they would feel comfortable enough to tell them. But for now, it was not the secret that Yeosang planned to push. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Instead, he lets Chan speak to the young Faery, tones hushed. In between words, he catches the sound of his own name, followed by the girl’s pink gaze drilling into his face. With quick, light steps she places a hand on his shoulder. Her smile is sweet like honey nectarines when she isn’t pairing it with a deadly glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “My apologies,” she says, bowing slightly. “You all just look uncannily like my family. My name is Bom. I am the heir to the Kang-Choi line that oversees the territories of Bylea and Neafri.” She glances at Yeosang’s ears once again with a grimace. “I would like to apologize as well for my remark regarding your ears. They are just...not appealing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Princess Bom, please,” Chan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Right,” the girl mumbles, spinning on her heel. The silk bustle of her long tunic flutters in the breeze as she sashays her hips back through the trees. “You’re here for Sir Wooyoung of Earth, correct? Follow me back to the castle.” As she turns to a pinprick in the distance, the group trails slowly. Professor Kang— Chan, Yeosang corrects mentally— maintains a middle distance between the group of magicians and the princess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Around them, the orchard seems to breathe. Every step feels forbidden, painful even, as the grass sways in the afternoon sun. They were not supposed to be here. Truly, this land was not something that humans were meant to set foot within. It was filled to the brim with rogue, buzzing magic. A power so strong, so dangerous, that Yeosang’s skin was alight with movement. The electric feel was almost too much to handle, far too raw on his oversensitive muscles. It was as though his flesh had been replaced with pure, unfiltered energy. And he hated it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Evidently, San was fairing in a similar manner. When his nails were not scratching at his arms, they were buried deep within his dark strands. Eyes watering, it was only a manner of time before the younger man tripped on something. Carefully, Yeosang reaches up to pull one of the Traveller’s hands away from where it has stationed over his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you alright?” he asks quietly, intertwining their fingers. San nods, a stray tear rolling down his cheek, and glances at their combined hands. For a moment, it looks as though he plans to bolt, but Yeosang tightens his grip. “Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San gulps. “The magic here is stronger than I expected,” he mumbles, voice sticky with pent up sorrow and pain. “I can hear it, I think. It’s trying to call me deeper into the forest. And it won’t get the fuck out.” The last portion breaks off as he winces, biting into his bottom lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang runs his thumb over the man’s knuckles. “Do you want me to carry you?” he asks, concern building. They were about the same size, but that didn’t mean that Yeosang was useless. He could at least carry him part way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Before San can protest, a different figure overhears the conversation. Yunho, a creature of love and loyalty, bounds over to sling the Psychic over his shoulder. San squeaks loudly, but doesn’t protest. Instead, his body goes limp. It’s almost endearing to watch the Illusionist cradle the younger man. Almost. It would be more so if San’s face wasn’t pulled tight into a seemingly permanent grimace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It isn’t far to the castle,” Chan calls just as a bridge comes into view. Or truly, what Yeosang assumes is one. The elevated structure crosses a wide valley. Crystals drip from its rope-build and flowers of every color, shape, and size pool around it, clinging to its bones like a fragrant skin. The dainty purple of long wisteria tendrils dance in the breeze; intertwining like lost lovers with the pink petunia blooms. Marigolds cover its base like stepping stones floating in air. And there is more— so much more that Yeosang can’t even focus on every detail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Mingi is the first to gasp. “They’re beautiful,” he whispers, nearly bowling over Bom in an effort to examine the bridge. “And they are so happy. Who maintains them?” the Naturalist asks, turning to face Chan with wide eyes. Chan smiles, pride flashing over his features, as he shrugs slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “My husbands,” he says. The words fall over the group in a wave. No one had known Professor Kang was married. He had no ring. And seeing the confusion, he barks out a laugh before reaching into the collar of his shirt to pull out a golden chain. Dangling from its radiance is a thin wedding band. “We’ve only been married for about fifty years, but I’ve never seen another pair of souls so brilliant.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      The Treasure Key </span>
  </em>
  <span>series never mentioned relationships; not really. That wasn’t to say that Yeosang didn’t spend years reading fanfiction– and of course, writing it. Any weird scenario Wooyoung thought up, Yeosang turned it into words on a page for his readers to experience. There were so many miniscule details within the canon that he plucked out like steady notes on Woo’s guitar strings. And for a moment, he forgets that the man before him is one that he has written into a million situations. For a moment, Avalon is not a land of magic and make believe. That is the moment that changes everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Avalon was real. The hundreds of paragraphs and plot twists weren’t the author’s liberal creations. Kang Yuchan lived through hell and back; and stood before him still surviving. Long after the books had ended, the characters prospered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Magic was always real.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Is this bridge safe to walk on?” Yunho mumbles as they begin to cross the cavernous expanse. It’s only when he steps foot on one of the vibrant marigolds that he turns to Jongho with a wide-eyed expression. “It doesn’t feel sturdy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yunho,” the redhead says with a belated sigh. “It’s a rope bridge made of flowers. I can guarantee it’s not sturdy.” He grabs the older man’s wrist and pulls him along the walkway with newfound fervour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The air holds mystery as they march to the castle doors. Bom, light as a feather, knocks on their heavy wood with a grin. As though built by electricity, they creak open slowly. And just then, it is as though all of the breath has been pulled from Yeosang’s lungs. Before them, a hall of stone, marble, maroon, and gold comes into view. With a twirl, Bom sweeps them inside. Silence does not meet them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yuchan!” The voice comes from a nearby threshold just as Chan’s boots come to a stop. Within seconds, a bounding figure of blonde is throwing itself into the professor’s open arms. The man is only about an inch shorter than the brunette, but radiates the energy of the moon and all of her stars. With him comes the buzz of magic that Yeosang has come to know beneath his skin like his own veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His blonde strands have been pulled into a tight bun on top of his head, bouncing as he tries to essentially bury himself in the thick wool of Chan’s coat. He hardly notices the group of wayward magicians until the brunette practically pulls him off of him. And then, the Fae’s dark eyes are settling directly onto Yeosang. He frowns, squinting at the boy, until suddenly he bows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Your highness, I apologize. I had no idea that you were returning today,” he says formally. Before Yeosang, or any other member of the group, can correct him, Chan’s hand finds a place on the man’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Donghun, this is not the king,” he mutters, glancing at the crowd warily. “None of them are.” When the blonde lifts his head, he stares between the professor and the students with a peculiar sense of disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Their ears are quite short, aren’t they?” says another voice, heavy steps approaching languidly. “While I do believe the resemblance is uncanny, it seems we may be facing the other portion of our beloved royals doppelgangers.” A man with short cobalt hair comes to a stop before him. His expression is catlike, mouth turned up at the corners, as he analyzes Yeosang carefully. “I do believe you’re here to collect a particular Jung Wooyoung?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Junhee,” Chan whispers, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to the man’s lips. As he does so, the blonde beside him whines pathetically in offense. With a chuckle, Chan bestows one upon him as well. “These are a few of my students.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ll never grow accustomed to those words,” the one named Junhee mumbles before facing the group. “I hope that our husband is not too much of a hassle for you all. He’s a bit of an asshole, but he means well.” Chan cuffs the man on the back of the head abruptly. As his hand flies up to rub at the site of impact, the attention falls on his long, pointed ears. Another Faery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And Yeosang knows exactly who they are. Park Junhee and Lee Donghun; two members of Avalon’s illustrious A.C.E team. And evidently, Kang Yuchan’s husbands. The thought makes him smile; much to his own dismay. As the look spreads across his face, Jun catches sight of it and gris back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You know, the last Kang Yeosang I met made me work pretty hard to see a smile like that. It’s nice to see there’s at least one of you out there that doesn’t have a stick up his ass,” the high-elf says, crossing his arm over his chest to bow lowly. “I say that with only the kindest intentions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You best,” Bom chuckles, “though, I would not be inclined to tell my father if you meant otherwise.” Again, those words appear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her father</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Who was he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Excuse me if this is out of line,” Jongho says, a hand finding his hip. “But you have said that a number of times now. Why do you keep comparing the two of us to your parents?” That’s right. Not only had the young Faery called Yeosang her father, but she had made the same assumption about Jongho. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Because you are,” someone booms from the twin staircases that meld in the center at a large landing. As the owner descends the final, grand set of stairs that emerge from the middle, Yeosang cannot stifle the gasp that leaves his throat. There, a dainty figure takes the steps one by one. His long red hair has been pulled into a magnificent fishtail braid, laid through with golden beads and apple blossoms. Upon his brow sits a stunning gold circlet of leaves. A mirror image of Kim Hongjoong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Who…?” utters the blue-haired magician. His own Hongjoong, eyes wide, pushes out the words like an unwritten, breathy melody. Beside him, Seonghwa intertwines their fingers. White-knuckled grasp, Yeosang wants to be there. He should be there. But instead, he forces himself to stay rooted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The red-haired king smiles down upon them as his boots settle nicely on the maroon carpet of the entry hall. “I’m glad to see you both found your way to each other– even in another universe. For a while, I believed that my Seonghwa and I were the only two that would be able to make such an impossible union work.” He smiles, cautiously treading forward. As he does, all of A.C.E falls into low bows. “Welcome to Avalon. We seem to have a lot to talk about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A lot to talk about seems to be a massive understatement on behalf of the king. He introduces himself as Kim Hongjoong of Avalon while shepherding the group down countless, daunting corridors. When they finally come to a stop in front of a subtle alcove, Yeosang is hit with the distinct realization that he has seen this door before. The Gate of Truth. Or rather, what it would be, if located inside of a massive, Faery castle rather than an abyss of white and static. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The Gate,” he mumbles, not moving his gaze from the door. When King Hongjoong hears him, he turns with a wide-eyed expression. Yet, under his gaze, Yeosang does not feel comfort. Not in the way he does with the Hongjoong he grew to know as his own. No, Earth’s Hongjoong was calm, but full of affectionate advice and a selflessness to match. This red-haired king, on the other hand, sizes him up slowly. As though Yeosang is a threat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You know the gate?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. As he does so, he places a single palm over a falling apple etched into the cherry-red door with gold. On the back of his hand, he uses his left index finger to trace the shapes of an intertwined ‘M’ and ‘H’. “My older brother was the only other soul allowed into this room,” he says softly. “I suppose now, it’s my sanctuary alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “My brother found an excuse to invade any sanctuary of mine,” Earth’s Hongjoong mumbles, chuckling when Seonghwa presses a kiss to his cheek. The red-haired version does the same as the apple design completes its tumble. The door swings open with a groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Brothers have a way of doing just that, don’t they?” he says, gesturing for the group to take seats around the study. He settles onto the surface of a grand mahogany desk near the front. It’s a rather unbecoming position for a king, sitting cross-legged on top of a desk rather than in the large leather chair behind it, but for a Hongjoong, it is entirely in character. It’s then that a swishing, brown rope makes itself known.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Thin, slightly furry, and tufted at the tip like a lion’s, is a tail. It protrudes from the base of King Hongjoong’s spine. Lazily, it flops onto the desk, but not before Yunho lets out a sharp gasp. He points at the limb with a look of befuddlement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Dude,” he says to Earth’s Hongjoong, “you have a tail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I have a tail,” Hongjoong repeats carefully, easing himself onto a velvet loveseat. “Is that common? Do people have tails here?” he asks, staring at his other self with an entire galaxy forming in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Some Fae do have tails indeed,” the king laughs joyfully. “However, my case is a bit beside the point. I’ll tell you about it someday, should we have time to do so.” He leans forward, planting his chin in his palm. “So, I suppose we start with why there are multiples of the same people, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That would be nice,” San mutters, his own face burying in Yeosang’s shoulder as he settles into the man’s lap. While the others in the room wear dual expressions of unadulterated confusion, Yeosang can see Seonghwa and Hongjoong share a glance. One full of pride and hope. One that begs Yeosang to let things unfold as the world throws them his way. And so, he does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He wraps his arms around the man’s waist, pulling him closer to his chest, and lets him nuzzle against his neck. Whatever would help him block out the sounds in his mind. Yeosang hardly notices as he begins a soft healing spell, one to numb the pain just enough to let San hear the mysteries of his favorite childhood series’. The brunette sighs heavily and relief builds in Yeosang’s limbs as he feels the tension leave the Traveller like a forgotten melody.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “Parallel universes exist, but in this case, we exist in a mirror dimension. The Tír na nÓg lives alongside Earth’s realm. Underneath it may even be a better descriptor,” Yeosang ignores the faint ‘told-you’ that San breathes into his skin as the king speaks. “Like in the case of both your Hongjoong and myself, we are the same person, but also nowhere near identical. Similar motivations, appearances, and personalities, maybe. However, we could never pass as the other in a universe that was not our own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      You had the honor of meeting one of the children of this dimension. Bom belongs to the Kings of Bylea and Neafri. She was abandoned as a child and King Yeosang’s bleeding heart demanded that his husband, Jongho, agree to taking her on as his heir. I believe you will meet the others within time. For now, Bom is the only child completing her residency in Avalon. She is under the guidance of A.C.E.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang finds his gaze straying to Jongho. The younger leans against a bookshelf, unaware of Mingi’s hand settled carefully on his knee. Or perhaps, he did know, and just chose not to acknowledge it. When he feels Yeosang’s stare, he faces the blonde with a grimace. Obviously, the two felt similarly about the thought of being a couple. With a grin, he lets himself focus on King Hongjoong again. The elf turns to him knowingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “In this universe, you were one of the first people to slap some sense into me, Yeosang. I assume you do the same for others?” The blonde notices the way his eyes trail down to the brunette curled up in his lap. His assertion, however, is not one that he can take credit of. Without admitting it, he shakes his head and intertwines his fingers with the strands of San’s dark hair. San nearly purrs with the way he massages small circles into his scalp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No,” Yeosang says, “I think that responsibility falls entirely on both you and Seonghwa.” The two men in question make surprised noises that delve into the depths of giggles. Uncontrolled and wild, it makes the room fall into a similar status. “There are a lot of things that the two of you have talked us through. Or out of. Or into. Hell, you talk a lot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Watch yourself,” Earth’s Hongjoong chuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You seem close,” the king says, a hint of a grin tickling his lips. “It’s nice to see that some things never change.” He scoots off of the desk carefully, glancing to Jun who opens the door with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t want to bore you with the details. If there is a question on your tongue, simply speak it. However, I feel that there is someone here you would like to see more than you would like to hear my ramblings.” When San lifts his head, the red-haired Hongjoong nods. “Come on, then. Who am I to stop you from meeting with him again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong leads them again, this time with a spring in his step. Jun, Donghun, and Chan chatter to the side, obviously honored to be reunited. What was it like to walk between worlds? Did Chan come home between classes? Or was something like this a rarity? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang cannot dive too deeply into the questions that dance in his mind. Not while Hongjoong, his Hongjoong, smiles at Seonghwa like the man hung the stars. Not while he knew that there was an ending out there that didn’t involve Wooyoung. That his peace was not found alongside his truth. He had never thought of Jongho as more than a friend, and certainly never considered ruling a kingdom– having a family, with the man. Not while the Apprentice of Knowledge found solace, or something of the sort, with Mingi and Yunho. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Where did that leave him? King Hongjoong, with his halo of crimson, sang his song of similarities and differences, and yet Yeosang could not hear the beat. He had two left feet and ears full of cotton as they marched toward the sun that his life could never outrun. The rays of warmth that licked at his skin were never too far from where Wooyoung made himself comfortable. And then, he feels it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The way San’s fingers squeeze his. The weight of his thoughts. The brunette’s cautious gaze. And the whispers as they brush his ear, tickling the strands of blonde that lingered there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re thinking too loudly, Yeo,” he says, hardly breathing. “You may be good at locking your mind up tight, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t hear you berating yourself.” And for a second, Yeosang believes him. Fully convinced that the Psychic is listening in, his eyes fly open wide as he whirls to face the younger man. There, however, he is met with dimples tucked daintily into a golden canvas blanketed by stars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And he sighs. “You can’t actually hear me, can you?” Yeosang asks, pressing a palm to his forehead. When San chuckles, he feels the world lift from his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No,” San mumbles, swinging their intertwined hands between them. “But your eyebrows were like this.” He pushes his down in the center until they furrow in an unattractive manner. If Choi San could be unattractive. “It was obvious that you were doing a pretty cool Hamlet reenactment. Maybe, though, save it for when we’re home?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The blonde hums; letting the tension dissolve from between his shoulder blades. He couldn’t erase the thoughts that plagued him, but he could calm them. Just enough so that they could go home. Just enough that he could tell them, Wooyoung and San both, that how he felt. He’d lay out his woes like an unorthodox oath and pray that they understood where he was coming from. When they were home, safe and in their beds, he would. But they were not there yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      They stop before a door of lavender and white. Delicate floral patterns in white lacquer lace their way up the exterior. The golden accents dance when King Hongjoong raps on the wood. It makes a dull sound before creaking open. Inside, Seonghwa’s other self stands with a frown. His hair is long and black, tied in a high ponytail and rippling down his back. From his head sprout two large, onyx horns. They are tipped in silver and decorated with long, curling chains. From them hang gems in every tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When his sharp cerulean gaze lands on his husband, the intimidating expression shatters into something brilliant. Against his back, dragonfly-like wings of iridescent chitin beat rapidly. They mimic the movements of an excited dog’s tail. As he breaks into a smile, he pulls the red-haired magician into his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hwa,” Hongjoong mumbles against the navy blue, black, and gold of his husband’s tulle outfit. It is a low-cut piece, the plunging neckline woven in gold, and feathering out into a sheer black material. The sleeves that sweep around Hongjoong’s small frame like wings of his own are long and flowing. Toward the elbow and bottom of the fabric, the same embroidery makes itself known. But what stuns Yeosang is the stunning train that hangs around the Fae’s ankles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa preserves his dignity with a pair of black shorts. However, the rest of the skirt is black and embroidered with hundreds of flickering constellations. Through the transparent cloth, the blonde can make out the glint of a dagger strapped to the man’s thigh. Beautiful and dangerous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You must be Wooyoung’s friends,” this Seonghwa says to the group with a smile. “He’s been desperate to see you, you know. Although, there are a few more of you than I think he was expecting.” His eyes travel over the party, lingering on Yeosang and San. “I can only assume that you two are his emotional support?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeah, emotional support bastards,” Jongho grumbles, rolling his eyes. “The least he could do is talk about literally anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “To be fair,” Yunho soothes, running a hand across Jongho’s back, “they’re a packaged deal.” When the youngest leans into the taller boy’s touch, rather than recoiling away from it like he usually would, Yeosang makes a mental note to ask about the situation. There would be no escaping this conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He’s my boyfriend,” San says, grip tightening on Yeosang’s fingers. “And Yeo is his best friend. Can we see him?” The other Seonghwa’s face scrunches up, for a glimpse, and then falls into something more subdued. It’s an expression that Yeosang has seen a hundred times on their own Seonghwa. And it is one that he does not want to think about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It’s the kind of look the man gets before he delivers a painful blow. Yet, this one does not push the topic. Regality personified, Seonghwa ushers the boys into the room. When the door closes behind them, he gestures at another door off to the side of a large bookshelf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He’s been in the bath for a while. I was just debating checking on him when you arrived,” Seonghwa says, just before Yeosang and San disappear from existence. When San drops his hand, they are standing inside of a large bathroom. To one side, a lavish vanity rests. The ridges of its crystalline surface are decorated in delicate white, tan, and pink seashells. But their focus does not fall onto the mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Instead, it falls onto the soggy magician who stares up at them through damp bangs. No one could say who grabbed him first. No one could say who fell into the tub and pulled the other with him. What they could say was that Wooyoung was alive. He was safe. And he was in their arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, moonbeams! Thanks for reading.</p><p>Arc 1 will be over sooner than we know it, but I can't pick a chapter count so oops.</p><p>Follow me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji<br/>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>- Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. zaffre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>“And in the burst of light that blinded every angel</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>As if the sky had blown the heavens into stars</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>You felt the gravity of temper grace falling into empty space</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>No one there to catch you in their arms</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Do you feel cold and lost in desperation</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>You build up hope but failure's all you've known</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Remember all the sadness and frustration</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>And let it go.”</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>
      <em>Iridescent - </em>
    </b>
    <em>
      <span>Linkin Park</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <hr/>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you ready to go home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Water pools on his eyelashes, thick and glittering, like the glitter that once coated Yunho and Mingi’s shared dorm room. And when he blinks, it twinkles off of them like comets destined to meet the sea. But that is not what pulls Yeosang out of his beauty, nor is it what makes his heart plummet into an abyss of unproclaimed destiny. What makes the universe shatter around him is Wooyoung’s voice, tiny and broken, as he stares into his best friend’s eyes with all of the trust a person can muster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I can’t go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A pin drops. A miniscule recollection of the land dancing with something unnatural. A memory crashing and burning around them. He feels smoke; smells it. Wooyoung said those same words, all those years ago, when he lost nearly everything that made him himself. It’s not Yeosang that overcomes the pounding silence of the lavender-frisked room. Instead, it’s San’s slow drawl as he drops his hand from Wooyoung’s cheek and back into the fragrant bath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What the hell do you mean you can’t go home? We came all this way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung sighs, burying his face in his hands. He could be one of the Fae. With the way his skin glitters golden in the dull light. With the delicate curve of his throat and sharp bone structure to rival the gods. Even his voice, light enough to echo a ringing bell and breezy hollow’s day, is otherworldly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “They tricked me– before the kings found me. I fucked up,” he whispers into his palms. “Do you know that the fruit here is delicious? It’s so sweet and melts like honey in your mouth.” Yeosang feels the icy drip of horror run down his spine as the man speaks. Wooyoung knew the rules. Anyone who was even the slightest fan of The Treasure Key knew the way the Fae sought only to take what wasn’t theirs. To break it and put it back together as something new; inhuman and willing to give up anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Wooyoung,” Yeosang utters, lifting the other’s chin just enough to meet his teary gaze. “You didn’t, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I didn’t know where I was. I was so tired and hungry,” he mumbles, resting his cheek on his arm. “A pack of Fir Darrig found me. Little bastards, honestly. The other Seonghwa said that I was luckily they left me alive.” He glances toward the open bathroom door. “They told me that I was tied up by my ankles and rambling about The Beast. Apparently, Avalonian apples are a delicacy here. Humans, though, get drunk off of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And they bind you to our land forever,” King Hongjoong says from the doorway, cradling a bundle of towels. “There is a law here is Avalon, and across most of the Tír na nÓg, that prohibits the mistreatment of humans. I would know– I signed it into effect. That ordinance was ignored by whatever creatures you had a run in with.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San is the first to pull himself from the tub, followed closely by Yeosang, as Hongjoong hands them each a towel. Wooyoung rises slowly, gratefully accepting the material as a means to conceal his dignity. For once, he does not make a snide remark. This Wooyoung has been drained of his radiance. And suddenly, Yeosang is furious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You can’t do this,” he growls, facing the king. “Wooyoung doesn’t belong here. He isn’t one of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He’s coming home with us,” San adds, arms wrapping around Wooyoung’s torso. “So, find a way to break the bond or I’ll find a way to break limbs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The redhead’s eyebrow shoots into his hairline. “Are you threatening a royal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m threatening </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” the Traveller says. “I truly couldn’t give less of a damn if you shit gold or wear it on your head as a little tiara. You do not own humans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang places a palm on San’s chest, steadying both himself and the man’s frantic comments, just as the Faery Seonghwa rounds the corner of the bathroom door. Violence was not the option, no matter how justified it felt. Afterall, Wooyoung had said that the kings were the ones to save him. They brought him to the castle, clothed him, and retained his humanity in the best way they could. They were as close to the Wooyoung of this world as the magicians were to their own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “San,” Yeosang whispers, watching the way Seonghwa’s eyes narrow. “We can talk about this when Woo isn’t naked and shaking like a leaf, alright?” The Pscyhic’s dark eyes fall onto him as he speaks. With every word, it is as though the blonde is watching an iceberg melt in that very room. The final collapse comes just as his thumb brushes the highpoint of San’s cheekbone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The younger sighs, grip tightening on Wooyoung, and glances at Hongjoong. “Do you have clothes that he can wear? I’m assuming that he didn’t expect an audience when he got into the bath.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I can speak for myself, San,” Wooyoung pouts, wiggling out of the vice-like hold. “But yeah, clothes would be nice, Your Highness.” As though the iciness has all but dissipated from the room like mist, Hongjoong’s cold expression vanishes. He chuckles, long red hair flitting behind him like parade ribbons, and marches out of the bathroom. Seonghwa follows in his stead, eyes hardly breaking contact with Yeosang’s. It was deserved, he supposed, but being on the receiving end of such a glare was not a comfortable experience. Especially not when that very man was one who knew him so intimately in their own universe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With a sigh, he finally turns to face Wooyoung. The mole beneath his eye stands out against the flush of his skin, reminding Yeosang of the time that they spent too long on the shore of their hometown’s beach. It feels like a million years ago, now, but he can still imagine the boy’s face the moment the Kangs began slathering him in aloe vera. It was the first ‘family’ outing Wooyoung went on with them after moving in. After he lost everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But here he stood, nearly ten years later, watching the other man with an intensity unnamable. And easily, his palm finds Yeosang’s cheek as he offers him the most delicate smile. With the weight of the world baring down on his bare shoulders, the brunette cocks his head, and lets the tilt of his lips take over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You followed me again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “To the ends of the Earth,” Yeosang whispers, laying his own hand on top of Wooyoung’s. He is warm. He is here. And he is alive. “Until we find the key.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Until we find our treasure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When Wooyoung is properly hidden beneath the pomp and circumstance of what seems like a hundred layers of lace, the group finds themselves scattered around the guest room he had been placed in. Plucking at the deep blue chiffon of the man’s peasant blouse, San grins. The navy material ripples like a billowing waterfall, untamed and bound for destruction, as it hung around every one of Wooyoung’s curves. The neckline found its stop in the center of his chest, ducking beneath the embroidered half-corset that Mingi painstakingly laced up for the younger man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Can I ask why you know how to tie those?” Jongho asks, curling around Yeosang like a sleepy cat. The blonde isn’t exactly certain when the boy found his way into his lap. Yet somehow, it doesn’t feel unnatural. He lets his fingers dig into silky strands at the nape of his neck, ministrating the sensitive flesh, and smirks when Jongho practically purrs like a cat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Theater,” Mingi responds, rolling his eyes when Jongho blinks at him slowly. “What did you expect me to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That you fucked a whole gaggle of chicks during LARP or something,” Jongho mumbles into the fabric of Yeosang’s pants. “Theater. Were we in any of the same productions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I was on costume crew, you dork,” the strawberry blonde says, plopping into Yunho’s lap. Again, another change that Yeosang had missed entirely. He needed to catch up with the two magicians; three if they counted Jongho’s ambiguous position in the trio. “I had other priorities,” he adds, subtly glancing toward Yunho. The pink-haired man’s face is coated with a deep flush as he covers his nose. Definitely a conversation they would be having soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Sitting in a velvetine chair by the window, the horned Seonghwa’s arms draped over him, is the king. At this distance, he seems a far cry from the creature that trotted down the castle’s stairs like an elk. Here, he seems dangerous. His face all sharp angles and hidden secrets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We have another challenge to overcome,” King Hongjoong remarks, twirling a folded fan between his fingers. The scarlet tones of its crushed material attract light like  fractals of moonstone set out to christine the silver rays upon solstice. “The Beast is unfortunately still out there. And while it is a rarity for something the plague both the Tír na nÓg and the Earthly realm, it seems that this creature has found a way to do just that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And how might you suggest we approach that situation?” Seonghwa asks. Their Seonghwa, the magician. Not the creature who stares back at him as though he is the one who sprouted horns. That being’s wings flutter gently, before he glances at his husband with the utmost respect. They’re sickeningly in love and every bit as protective of each other as their Earthly counterparts. When the other kind nods, signalling that it is alright for him to spill whatever secrets poison his tongue, the man sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “There is a dagger,” he says, blue eyes lingering on Wooyoung for a beat longer than Yeosang is comfortable with. “The Blade of Thorns is crafted from fire opal and bloodstone. There is only one blacksmith capable of such delicacy that he can carve it without the piece shattering. And only one man able to bless it in the way that matters most.” It’s then that his gaze dances between Yeosang and Jongho with a waltz and twirl. “Your counterparts watch over the most powerful shrines in this realm. However, they do not take too kindly to visitors that bring forth trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m assuming,” San mumbles, “that encompasses cannibalistic beasts covered in moths?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa nods. “And the largest caveat is more than just the weapon. Fire opal is rare in the Tír na nÓg. The only family that produces it willingly is–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “One that I will be marrying into.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The words falls over the room like a midnight storm. For a second, silence swings around them like the edge of a large sword. And then, it pierces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Wooyoung, what are you saying?” Yeosang gasps, glancing between the brunette and the royalty sitting in the room. “You don’t have to do anything. We’re breaking your bond with this realm and taking you home–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You can’t,” Wooyoung says. “I spoke to the kings about it. Hell, I already agreed to the engagement.” It’s a whisper. The cold wind racing across open, snowy plains in the dead of winter. The melting of icicles and the way they cast chilled dew upon the withering flora below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Woo–” San starts, but immediately finds a finger settling against his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “This is my decision,” he breathes. And then, the world falls into riot. Within seconds, Earth’s Honjoong is at the other’s throat. His fingers wrap around the king’s windpipe, pressing him to the floor. Before the guards can even hear the commotion, or the Faery Seonghwa can interfere, the bolt of blue is speaking lowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With his fingers drumming against the crimson Fae’s neck, he writes his own prophecy. “Dare you call yourself a leader when you bargain with lives that are not yours?” Finally, the other Seonghwa spurs into action. Carefully, he pries the mirror-images apart like ghosts out of the past. “You call yourself a king when you throw people away like toys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What do you know of me?” the red haired Hongjoong bellows. As he rises from the floor, Yeosang feels as though he has witnessed the rebirth of a phoenix from ash. “Your magic is nothing but fool’s gold that is losing its luster. How do you plan to solve the murderous confidant that your own lover brought forth into these realms?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      His lover. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yeosang knows that the king is referring to him. He knows that the responsibility of The Beast is his to bear. But for whatever reason, the voice in the back of his mind demands that, for once, he tell the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We’re not lovers anymore,” Yeosang mutters, shifting Jongho off of his lap so that he can make his way to the site of chaos. He can feel the weight of Wooyoung and San’s combined stare combing over his every move. “Let me be the one to marry whoever it is we are dealing with. Let me be the one to thrust the blade deep within the chest of that creature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He ignores the cacophony of voices as they spring up around him. Instead, he focuses on the way King Hongjoong’s lips form a small ‘o’. The way King Seonghwa loosens his hold on Earth’s own fiery leader. And the way Wooyoung’s cry cuts through the rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Because,” Yeosang says with a hidden smile. Maybe in another lifetime, he could turn to face the younger man– to show him just how proud he was. To be the one to kiss away his salty tears before they rolled off of his cheeks. “I’ve never had to search for my treasure.” He lowers his head. The pain that glows from within his chest– that pangs his throat like cotton and pearl and suffocates him from within– is difficult to forget. Yet, he hopes that he never will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It is the pain that comes with being alive. And he is so, very alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’ve always been right beside me, Wooyoung.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang knows it. Somewhere deep within, he has always known it. And when he thinks back to the all-consuming static– the way light jumped off of the blue wings of the glittering insects– he feels the way it beats against his ribs. The realization bangs the doldrums that he sought so desperately to drown out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He had become The Beast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, starshine! Thanks for reading.</p><p>My final semester of university started this week (and I'm doing 18 credit hours), so updates will be shorter so that I can continue updating this every few days. Otherwise, the final chapters would have been weeks apart.</p><p>Follow me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji<br/>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>- Cheers ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. minderer's spirit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>“My head's holding all theories in.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Hypotheticals can be poison.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>And just once I'd like to smile through it all </span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>and not be torn down by self-sabotage.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>And I tell myself this one's different.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Cause oh how you make love  feel brilliant.”</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <b>
        <em>Self-Sabotage - </em>
      </b>
      <em>
        <span>Em Harriss</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <hr/>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>
    <em>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </em>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In the flames of the hearth, Yeosang sees the night The Beast arose like a morbid film caught on replay at a small town’s drive-in theater. The gate, and all it had to offer, was a one way trip to a land of knowledge. If he would have accepted it, he would have died. Point-blank. The Beast had tried to lure him in with unlimited reasoning, and yet, Yeosang had found the power to say no. However, in doing so, he had given The Beast permission to return to the world of the living with him. Like a leech, the creature fed off of his doubt; his drive to be better than what he already was. His desire to be more than just Kang Yeosang. And to be more was to give up himself– his identity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He was still Kang Yeosang. However, The Beast had given him what he wanted in exchange for energy. He had given him a role. And it was something that he could not bear to think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It is just as the moon’s song reaches its highest note that a red haired figure slumps beside him. Yeosang, with his knees pulled to his chest and eyes wary, draws his gaze from the fire to the king resting in its warmth. Hongjoong does not speak. Instead, he fiddles with a wooden calligraphy brush. As though his feet carried him straight to Yeosang’s chambers rather than allowing him to continue working on whatever stack of parchment sat in his study, he at first does not look at Yeosang. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When he does, the flames color his eyes a golden amber. There is no distrust in his expression as his deep stare dances over the blonde. Sympathy and curiosity, perhaps, but nothing of condescending nature. King Hongjoong reflects only humanity in the midnight hours, and for that, Yeosang is grateful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Can I level with you?” the king asks, flames dancing in every scarlet strand of his long braid. When Yeosang nods apprehensively, the man smiles. “You’re unremarkable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Pardon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Do not take this the wrong way, dearest. I mean that as a compliment,” he says, fingers twiddling with the caligraphy brush. “You are so very human. A Necromancer who is afraid of playing God. A creature of habit who lets his truest love sing ballads with another man. You accidentally sold your soul to The Beast to try to burn it out of your life. You are a walking juxtaposition, and yet, so unremarkable that I find it hard to piece together any portion of your personality to match the Yeosang of this realm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The blonde frowns. His lips are numb from the amount of time he spent gnawing on their sensitive flesh. The broken look that Hongjoong offers him is enough to make the expression turn to a grimace. Carefully, the man reaches out to tuck a blonde strand behind his ear. As his fingers brush Yeosang’s jaw, he gives a light tap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He and I were close. I met him before many of the others, and truth be told, would have married him if it hadn’t been for Seonghwa.” The fire seems to reflect his sentiments, flickering in time with the beat of their drumming hearts. “And if his soul did not clearly belong to another.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Jongho?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Always,” Hongjoong whispers, sticking the end of the brush between his teeth. “And for that, I am thankful. Bom deserves them.” Yeosang traces his words for any sense of dishonesty, but returns with none.</span>
  <em>
    <span> A Faery cannot lie. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I feel like there is a but somewhere,” Yeosang mumbles, resting his chin on his knees. Hongjoong’s eyes widen, as though he did not expect to be challenged. And then, he lets out a barking laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Must you always be so perceptive in every life?” he asks and leans against the base of the plaid chair beside him. Why a king would sit on the floor simply to talk to a magician was beyond him. “The world that you live in is not my story. The things that are happening here, right now, are unlike any I have gone through. However, in this realm, my future walks before me clad in white and blue.” He smiles sadly. “My son was abandoned by his birth parents due to his unclean lineage. Like me, he was a bastard born to the throne. When King Yeosang brought him to us, I saw myself in that young prince’s eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I brought him to you?” Yeosang asks, lifting his head slightly. “The prince is not from Avalon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong nods, flames tickling his skin. “He is from a northern kingdom. However, we were never given the name. Mars has since blocked out those memories; through magic or mentality I’ll never know.” When he glances toward Yeosang, his expression is soft. “Our children mean more to us than we can show. I was taught that love is weakness, but your other self showed me my faults. Love is simply what you find when the universe believes you need time out of your own head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang can feel the drum of his heart as Hongjoong stands back up. His boots scuff the floor delicately as he offers the human a bow. The jewels on his ears swing this way and that, catching the light and sending fractals of color around the dim apace. Just as he goes to leave, he turns to face the Necromancer once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And Yeosang?” he calls. “Wooyoung never stopped talking about you and San from the moment we found him. I do think it would be in your best interest to clear the air with him.” As the door shuts, he adds a quick, “You may find joy in the most hidden places.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Earth’s Hongjoong was not so different from the king after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang does not have to go far to get back to Wooyoung and San’s shared room. They had offered him a place in it, saying that they really didn’t think he should be alone, but the blonde had wanted just that. A place to draw his thoughts into one tight bundle and smack himself with them until they made sense. He had yet to reach the second step. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      However, when the dull knock of his knuckles against the ornate wood of the door echoes through the corridor, he wishes he would have. Wooyoung answers it wearing little to nothing aside from a lilac silk blouse, unlaced down his chest, and a pair of loose, drop-crotch pants hardly tied at the waist. When his gaze lands on Yeosang, the semi-scowl that was originally rooted in his expression dissolves. A brilliant smile covers his face, warm and inviting, as he pulls the older man into a well-needed embrace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hey, baby,” he whispers, his breath gentle on Yeosang’s ear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It had always been baby, but for some reason, the pet name hits him differently now. Especially as his attention lands on a silhouette sprawled out on the large mattress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San’s own gaze is hooded, lids heavy, but his lips shine as though they had been abused until recently. Seconds ago. The top three buttons of his olive green blouse, borrowed from the Fae, have been undone roughly. Even the thin fabric of his leggings hangs low on his hips. Yeosang tears his stare away, refusing to admire someone so beautiful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I wanted to talk to you,” Yeosang murmurs. It’s now or never. When Wooyoung tries to step into the hall, Yeosang reiterates quickly. “Both of you, actually.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He guides the younger man to the small table in the corner of the room. Its round surface is adorned by a single golden rose. San, overhearing the conversation, stands slowly. His dark hair is mussed from the way it had fanned out against the bedsheets. It takes more self-control than Yeosang is willing to admit to keep himself from running his fingers through the strands as San carefully adjusts them back into order. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When both men are seated, Yeosang sighs softly. The rounded edges of his teeth dig into his bottom lip, chewing on the chapped skin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now or never</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s a mantra that beats against the tides of his own heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “San told me,” Yeosang says quietly. It is hardly more than a breath; barely enough to be heard. And yet, Wooyoung’s eyebrow quirks at the sound. “That he has feelings for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh,” Wooyoung utters, glancing at his boyfriend. “I thought you were going to tell him while I was present?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San rolls his eyes dramatically. “I would have if someone didn’t launch themselves into a mirror portal after a bug-covered sociopath.” Wooyoung frowns, but offers his lover a light-hearted shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang, falling deeper into the hole he had dug for himself, clears his throat. When the two focus on him, he can hardly find the words to speak. He drops his head into his hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now or never, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his thoughts provide. And never is starting to look like a good option until—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeo?” Wooyoung asks, his voice like molasses in the summer sun. It could cast amber rays around the dim room if only the light would hit it just right. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I—“ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now or never. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He draws in a sharp breath; hope fills his chest like buried treasure. He hopes it shines just as bright. “I feel the same way.” His confession is a drop in the overflowing bucket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang lifts his head. San, eyes wide, stares back as though he cannot process what was just said. It’s a second, and then ten, before the boy is standing. When his arms wrap around Yeosang’s neck, he feels like he has been enveloped by a benevolent god’s bountiful mercy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung is what pulls him out of his revelry. “I guess this is a good time to come clean, then?” the brunette says, hugging himself as though the far-off winter already nips at his eyelashes. “Since you’re getting married and I technically already am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang watches him as San lets go of his frame. The man kneels beside the blonde’s chair, evaluating where Wooyoung is going with the statement, before the world shifts painfully. Out spill words that Yeosang never had imagined coming from his best friend. The only thing he ever really thought of as an intangible dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ve been in love with you for almost fifteen years,” Wooyoung murmurs. “And I know you’re going to hate me for it; that it’s disgusting after I suggested we start a physical relationship.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Wooyoung—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hell, I’ve known since we were twelve and you tried to tell me that teeth grow back. Because you smiled with that stupidly beautiful look in your eye and I wanted to see it for the rest of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Woo—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So, I’m fine if you and San want to date. I love you both so much. But San is the only person I will ever be willing to see you stand next to. Watching you with Hongjoong and Seonghwa was like giving myself a stick’n’poke with battery acid. If you two want to go back home and live your forever out there, I’ll take over the wedding again. You can go back to Earth. You can be happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “For fuck’s sake,” Yeosang barks, tearing across the table to seize the brunette by the shoulders. “Let someone else talk for just a damn second, you Shakespearean tragedy.” When Wooyoung snaps back to reality, his eyes nearly glossy with effort, Yeosang presses a tender kiss to his forehead. “I’ve been in love with you since you handed me Cheerio during recess and told me to plant it if I ever wanted to grow a doughnut tree.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We were like eight,” the younger sniffles, swiping his silky sleeve beneath his nose. “Why would something like that make you fall in love with me? I was a little shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Call it instinct,” Yeosang grins. “I thought you actually believed it and my first reaction was, ‘Oh god, I can never leave him alone. He’ll starve waiting for that tree to grow.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You still planted it,” Wooyoung mutters, burying his face into Yeosang’s neck. None of them speak again. Instead, Wooyoung’s body slumps further and further, until finally, San is scooping him up like a sack of potatoes. The sleeping brunette hardly stirs as he sinks into the mattress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San sits down on the bed and holds a hand out to Yeosang. The blonde glances at it before intertwining their fingers carefully. It’s like piecing a broken vase back together with gold. Still noticeably fractured, but in a way that reflects the beautiful journey that comes with getting somewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “How do you feel?” Yeosang asks, his eyes focused on the way San rubs a gentle circle into his wrist. The man gives him a half-hearted smile, but the wince he adds to it makes the effort seem wasteful. “I can try to numb the pain again,” the blonde adds, already feeling the magic beneath his skin beginning to awaken. San, however, only shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You need sleep,” he mumbles. When he tries to offer Yeosang a spot on the mattress, he is met with a swift decline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ll stay in my room tonight,” says Yeosang as he squeezes San’s fingers between his own. San tilts his head at the concept. “I want to take this slow. Even if that means just keeping distance for a little while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I understand,” San murmurs, still lifting Yeosang’s hand to his mouth to settle a soft kiss against his knuckles. “Can I talk to you about something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang raises a single eyebrow. They were friends before they were whatever this was, and yet, the request sounds strange coming from the brunette. Even as he nods, he can’t help but wonder when things started to change. Had they ever?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Wooyoung doesn’t talk about his family,” San says slowly. “It’s always just been you and yours. Whenever I try to ask him about his parents, he avoids the question like I didn’t even say anything.” Yeosang feels his heart plummet into his stomach. Wooyoung had yet to tell San the whole truth. Maybe, it had been lost to time; that they never had a moment to discuss it when the world was crashing around them. But he can’t bring himself to believe that as the whole story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He hasn’t told you?” Yeosang asks. When San shakes his head, the blonde can’t help but frown. “I don’t really think it’s my place to say anything, San. I want to, but it’s not my story to tell.” He traces a rose onto San’s palm gently. Intricately. “I will say though, his family passed away when we were in high school. There was an accident and Woo barely made it out alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San’s mouth forms into a small pout as he glances toward the sleeping man beside them. In such a vulnerable state, the magician hardly seems like someone who would charge after The Beast. Instead, he looks like a dancer lost to the sands of time. And for a second, Yeosang wonders what kind of thoughts pass through San’s mind. The brunette’s eyebrows furrow in the center as he brushes a stray wave out of Wooyoung’s face carefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He’s stronger than people give him credit for,” Yeosang adds, watching the tender scene unfold before him. If life was a snowglobe, this would be the moment within its glass walls. “We’ll get him home with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And you,” San says, eyes not leaving Wooyoung’s face. “We’re not leaving you here, married off to some random Faery. We’re a family– all eight of us.” And Yeosang can only hope that he’s right. With a nod, he pushes off of the mattress and leaves the room before San can protest further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When the morning comes, it brings with it a second set of problems. Yeosang opens his eyes to meet a familiar fuschia stare glowering down upon him. With a screech, he lurches out of the blankets and stumbles onto the floor. Bom, frown growing, only cocks her head at the mirror version of her father. If he ever had kids, he hoped to God they didn’t watch strangers while they slept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Did I scare you?” the Fae asks, her pink curls bouncing with every word. Before he can bark out a wild ‘yes’, she is already rounding the bedframe with an intent stare. “The kings request your presence in the throne room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You couldn’t have knocked on the door first?” he asks, steadying himself. His heart flips as he thinks not only of his moment with San and Wooyoung, but the future that Avalon holds for him. “Do I have time to put clothes on? Or is this urgent?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Bom laughs. It is a sound that can make blossoms flourish from window boxes. “I would hope you plan to wear more than your night clothes there, Father.” The word slips before she thinks about it. Within seconds, her face flushes a deep salmon. “My apologies–” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s alright,” he whispers, ignoring the way the name makes his heart flutter. He knew nothing about this child, and yet, he felt an odd bond to her. “I’ll be out in a few minutes if you want to wait outside, Your Highness?” The honorific makes her eyes light up with something vivid and charming as she nods wildly. And then, she is gone. Only the door closing behind her lithe frame is evidence that she was even there at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Donning a white ribbed turtleneck that seems to find itself sleeveless and a pair of tan pants that billow out into slight puffs at the shin, he pulls his hair into a messy ponytail. Kings or not, they didn’t need him to look like a model. In reality, he could hardly force his eyes to stay open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Slowly, he wanders out to meet the pink Faery as she sways on the balls of her feet. When she sees him approach, her movements still almost entirely. She was cautious. And yet, it made him glad. Perhaps his other self had raised her quite well. With a soft bow, he gestures down the corridor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Bom doesn’t say much as they make their way through the castle. On occasion, she points out the various structures they pass, or the staff that smile and wave, but not once does she attempt to pry into his life. And for that, Yeosang is thankful. She is a respectful representation of royalty. It’s only when she pushes open the throne room’s doors that he notices the subtle glitter that curls around her finger like a band of light. A wedding ring. His not-daughter was married.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In the great hall, more people linger than Yeosang was expecting. The magicians are all gathered, which serves to make his heart calm slightly, just before he realizes there are quite a few unfamiliar faces. Among his friends stand figures that he can only imagine in his deepest dreams. Or at this point, maybe, they would be closer to nightmares. Their other selves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When Yeosang approaches, nearly ducking behind Bom to avoid being noticed, a yell tears through the echoing cavern before he can try to make a break for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Kang Yeosang!” someone calls, charging up to him like a bolt. The man is about his height, however, his body is built with grace and celestial reign empowered within his limbs. Despite the long, dragonfly wings that sprout from his back, and the platinum hair that flickers lavender in the light, Yeosang has no difficulty identifying exactly who he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You must be Wooyoung,” the Necromancer says, attention fixating on the dark speck beneath the Fae’s eye. When he smiles, Yeosang can even make out that same birthmark smudged on his bottom lip. Of course, the Wooyoung in this universe was just as stunning as his own. But this one, with teeth that mimic glittering glass shards, is so far from human that the magician nearly cowers before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’d be right,” he chuckles, nodding fervently. “You met Bom! I love her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You better love her,” says a feminine voice. Seemingly out of nowhere, a tiny-boned Faery approaches them. With every step, her long blue pigtails flutter behind her like streamers. When he focuses on the ends, they flicker red as though infused with bioluminescent pigment. “She is your daughter in law.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She stops before them, she offers a careful bow. The lilac of her silken blouse matches Wooyoung’s hair, but is mostly hidden beneath dozens of intricate leather straps connecting to a harness. Her golden pants are high-waisted and embroidered with white floral patterns that disappear and reappear at will. But what concerns Yesoang the most is the black eyepatch that lays over her right eye. She must notice his worried gaze, because in moments, she is smiling. With a chuckle, she holds out a single hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Kang Yeosang of Earth, it is an honor to meet you,” she says. Her leather glove is soft as it meets Yeosang’s palm. “My name is Byeol. I’m the adopted daughter of this realm’s San and Wooyoung, as well as, Bom’s wife.” The Necromancer tries desperately to shove the shattering feeling out of his chest. It’s as though his ribs have begun to crush his heart; slowly and patiently. “My twin brother, Dal, is across the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang turns to glance around the room before his stare lands on two relatively quiet figures settled on the stairs of the throne. One looks similar to Byeol, with tan skin and brilliant blue hair. A particular chunk hangs over his eyes; one that radiates some kind of green light. The twins were like Faery-glow sticks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Beside him, a boy with white hair has his nose shoved deep within a book. Two leathery blue wings flutter behind him, reminding Yeosang of a bat, but the tips have been pierced with silver cuffs. Weights, he realizes. The boy was essentially tethered to the Earth in the form of two, metal chunks. They were far too large to let him even raise his wings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His hair has been pulled into a long, fishtail braid. The ends are an icy-blue, matching his piercing, serpentine gaze. When it settles on Yeosang, he offers a shy smile before returning to whatever he was reading. It takes no genius to know exactly who that boy is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Mars?” Yeosang asks this realm’s Wooyoung with the tilt of his head. Wooyoung smiles, but doesn’t give him a full answer. “I’m assuming your son is married to him then. It would explain the intense family tree that you all have going on.” As the older says it, Wooyoung’s eyes go wide before he falls into cacophonous laughter. It’s enough to draw the attention of the rest of the room within seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You made it,” King Hongjoong says, breaking from his conversation with a red-haired Mingi and the other Hongjoong. As he treads up to the human, he offers a reluctant smile. “My apologies for sending Bom after you. I had to discuss the plan with the other members of our cabinet. My advisors rarely let me make a decision without confronting the nearby kingdoms. Luckily for us, the ones that matter to this deal are the same people I have trusted with my life time after time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang nods, his focus drifting between the king’s words and the stares that do not break from him. He couldn’t be that unique. He was simply Kang Yeosang, the magician and exhausted graduate student. Yet, no one looks away. Until suddenly, a palm lands on his shoulder. When he turns around, he is met with a hazel stare that he has only ever seen in his bathroom mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I see we have a similar sense for hair colors,” the other Yeosang says, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Although, yours is much longer than mine currently.” The Fae’s blonde hair tickles his rose-dusted cheeks. His birthmark, like rose petals on the river’s surface, stands out against the porcelain gold of his skin. This version of himself could be considered ethereal. A god. Built from the stars and the heavens above. And of course, the magician finds it within himself to ruin that poetic thought with a slip of the tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’d fuck my clone,” he whispers. When he realizes what he has said aloud, he squeaks. The other Yeosang, however, only lifts his long, billowing sleeve and laughs into it as though his reflection is a natural born comedian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m glad the feeling is mutual,” he says, grinning openly when Yeosang snorts. “From what I’ve heard, we’ll be working closely together to acquire the blade. Although, something tells me that you and I might be plotting a similar route out of your commitments.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you opposed to the wedding?” the Necromancer asks, quirking a brow. “I would have assumed that a union between kingdoms was preferred.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I would assume the same,” the Fae mutters, eyes dancing around the room, “if your betrothed wasn’t a particular individual with a distaste for anything of the sort.” As he speaks, he glances at the king. “That’s actually why we’re calling you here. The deal is agreed upon and not to be taken lightly, however, Taeyong has made a number of requests.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The name rolls off of Yeosang’s tongue unfamiliarly. When Hongjoong senses the magician’s confusion, he backtracks in the other Fae’s stead. Yeosang watches the way the sharp points of his fangs dip against his bottom lip. “Taeyong is the ruler of Okrod Al. While the kingdom is the sole location of the stones that we are in need of to produce such a sword, Taeyong is not viewing this agreement as something simple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Meaning, it is being viewed as mutually beneficial?” Earth’s San asks, sidling up to the group. His arm finds its way around Yeosang’s waist before the older can protest. However, it is not an unpleasant weight. “I’d sure hope that the poor dude is getting something out of this arrangement,” he adds with a frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong nods. “It is important for me to note that Taeyong prefers to use they/them pronouns and maintain a gender neutral identity. However, yes, there are advantages for this wedding. Their family has been trying to force a marriage to a kingdom on the outskirts of the Unseelie territory for years now. That particular betrothal is not one that Taeyong looks at fondly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Consider this an easy out,” Yunho’s doppelganger says, approaching the conversation carefully. Long furred ears hang to either side of his head, but what draws Yeosang’s attention is the fluffy tail that wags behind him. “Taeyong and I have been friends for years. There has never been a moment where they have expressed interest in marriage or romance. Honestly, your wedding is purely for appearances. Once it’s over, you have the freedom to go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San’s grip tightens suddenly, pulling Yeosang to his side. The blonde can feel the relief rolling off of the other in waves. Even Earth’s Wooyoung, who was deep in conversation with the other San, seems to be at ease when the admission trickles over to him. In a heartbeat, the magician is smiling across the room and lunging toward the group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You aren’t stuck here with me,” he says, wrapping himself around San and Yeosang like a viper. “Should I be happy about that?” Wooyoung asks suddenly, a delicate frown pulling at his lips suddenly. The boy was a lacy creation coming apart at the seams. And it was everything that Yeosang was aiming to prevent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re not stuck here either,” the blonde whispers, twisting until his nose is nuzzled into Wooyoung’s neck. “I’m not going anywhere without you.” He glances at San, whose dark waves fall into his eyes like a veil protecting him from the outside world. Maybe they were. “Or you.” The Traveller grins like a cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The decision comes easily. They would visit Okrod Al to meet Taeyong before the wedding and acquire the materials needed to craft the blade. Jongho would then transport the supplies to Neafri where he would begin to smith the dagger. It would only take a week, however, that left plenty of time for The Beast to locate them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Even with a clever glamour,” the red haired Mingi says, twirling Yunho’s wedding band around his finger, “that thing can find you all. A large group poses a threat to your safety. We figured it would be best to house some of you in our kingdom until the day of the ceremony.” His gaze lands on the human forms of Jongho, Mingi, and Yunho. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing double,” he laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I want to stay together,” the youngest says. The room falls silent, staring at Jongho as though he has just asked to perform another transmutation ritual. “What? Let that thing come for me. Us getting separated is exactly why we’re here in the first place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung’s gaze falls onto the table. His mirror image sits across the wooden surface, paralleling the brunette in the same way as the other seven members, and notices the magician’s change in demeanor immediately. Without saying anything, the Fae reaches across the table to grip Wooyoung’s fingers. Wooyoung startles at the contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You blame yourself?” the Faery asks, watching the way the magician shrugs. “What you did was reckless, however, I cannot guarantee that your classmates would be alive without your bravery. You may be rash, Jung Wooyoung, but you would make a wonderful ruler.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The other San chuckles. “Darling, you’re only saying that because you think of yourself as a great king.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I,” the Fae starts, glaring at his husband, “am a great king. I ended a year-long drought, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “A drought that began because you pissed in a Kelpie pond,” mumbles Yunho. “The nymphs never took well to washing urine out of their horses’ manes. You’re oblivious for a water-bound Fae in that sense.” Wooyoung makes an affonted noise, batting at the Cu Sith’s long ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I wasn’t aware it was inhabited!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “To be fair,” the other Jongho cuts in, “this is the Tír na nÓg. Everything is inhabited.” On his other side, his husband laughs softly. Yeosang can’t help but wonder if his own laughter sounds that way; like sea glass settling into a child’s jar. Jongho shrugs when the Faery Wooyoung shoots him a glare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang covers his own grin when his Wooyoung slings an arm over his shoulder. “If they died, Yeosang would have just brought them back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The sentence makes the bulk of the room stop moving. The Fae, aside from Hongjoong and Seonghwa, wear mirrored expressions of disbelief. Evidently, no one covered that portion of the situation with them. With a sigh, Seonghwa runs his fingers through his dark hair. The strands fall around his horns flawlessly, and for a moment, Yeosang wonders if he charmed them to always look so perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No one told you all?” Earth’s San asks, leaning forward. “That’s awkward. Were we just not supposed to talk about Yeo’s badass tattoos? Or Jongho’s wooden automail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I just assumed it was common on the Earth plane,” Yeosang’s reflection says. “You are truly able to bring someone back from the beyond?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No,” the Necromancer mumbles. “I can tether souls to bodies. I haven’t really learned the whole ‘go into the aether and pull the right make and model from the spirit world’ thing yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And I can’t believe you ever will,” Hongjoong says, his blue hair flopping messily as he pushes it behind his ear. “That’s not a thing humans can do. Or rather, you probably could do it, but you shouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The dark haired Jongho frowns. “I knew I sensed something lingering on your spirit.” At first, Yeosang’s eyebrows furrow in question, until he realizes that the question wasn’t directed at him. Instead, the Fae was staring intently at his other half. With a sigh, the magician nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s a long story,” he says, gaze flitting over to Yunho. “However, I made a mistake. I tried to create something out of nothing and nearly lost everything.” When he looks back at his other self, his dark gaze is weighted. “The Beast was my responsibility.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Stop,” Yeosang murmurs, not looking at the youngest. “I’m the one that opened the gate. I’m the one that thing has been leeching off of.” Aside from King Hongjoong, the room erupts into a sharp gasp. Honesty was supposed to feel like the winds of a cleansing rain dousing over him– so why did it feel so filthy? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What do you mean?” the blue haired Hongjoong asks, hardly above a whisper. “You’re not connected to The Beast–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I am,” Yeosang says, certainty flooding his voice. “The night of the ritual, I was shown the door. Chan had shown me the gate, but before I woke up in the hospital, I saw The Beast in my dreams. I think he was a part of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You would be right,” King Hongjoong says softly. “You let your guard down long enough for a part of your soul to seep through the cracks. Something desperate for freedom. Have you noticed anything different about yourself since that night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You mean aside from the markings and just about everything else? Of course I’ve been different,” Yeosang mumbles tersely. “I watched someone die and shoved their soul back into their body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The red haired king sighs, setting his chin on top of his folded hands. “You know what I mean, Kang Yeosang. Your personality. Does it feel like something left you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It’s then that Wooyoung speaks, his dark hair falling in small waves where it tumbles from the ponytail he has it pulled into. “His reservations,” he near-whispers. “Not all of them, there are still plenty of walls there, but…” He glances at the blonde. “You’ve been freer than I’ve seen you in years, Yeosangie. More active and full of life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Less like a bird caged against his will,” Earth’s Seonghwa says with a soft smile. “The day we met you, you were so angry at the world. I’m starting to think that most of that fury went right out the window.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You have been more honest about your desires,” the blue haired Hongjoong adds. When Yeosang looks at his ex-lover, all he sees is the twinkle of admiration that flickers in the man’s deep eyes. The warmth. “It’s like you no longer envy everyone that stands in your way. Instead, you’ve started confronting the wishes that echo in your mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It does not take a genius to piece together what Hongjoong is referencing. The blonde can feel the weight of San’s arm around his shoulders. The love radiating from Wooyoung. He has surrounded himself with the very thing Hongjoong and Seonghwa pushed him to find. His heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Mingi nods with what the others say. The Naturalist places his elbows on the table and leans forward just enough to glance down the long row of magicians and look Yeosang in the eye. His strawberry blonde hair nearly glows citrus in the morning sun. The freckle beneath his eye contrasts against his golden skin in a way that brings delicate humanity to the man’s chiseled face. Mingi, the magician, could also pass himself off as a Faery without any effort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You also haven’t been banging people like a jackrabbit. Although, I’m not a hundred percent certain you were before the ritual either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He was after,” Wooyoung smirks, dodging a well-timed slap to the wrist. “What? You never put up any silencing charms. None of you did,” he says, staring pointedly at Hongjoong and Seonghwa. “The cottage walls are thin.” Another smack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You also stopped reading ahead in lessons. Like you were sick of learning more,” Yunho mumbles, his eyebrows furrowing. And then, the final comment comes easily from Jongho.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And you stopped worrying about the future. Instead of pushing yourself to the top of the class to get a better job, you just mellowed out. I didn’t even feel like we were competing anymore, despite the fact that’s exactly what Knowledge students do.” He stops abruptly, staring ahead as everyone twists and turns the jigsaw of options until something falls into the right place. And then, with a gasp, Jongho is covering his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Your Highness,” he says, addressing King Hongjoong, “you said that The Beast is made up of a portion of Yeosang’s soul?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I did,” the elf responds, raising an eyebrow. “Is that of particular interest to this rather long laundry list you have all provided?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jongho nods, sucking in a sharp breath. “It is when each of those attributes seems to fall in line with the seven deadly sins.” And in that moment, the puzzle seems to come almost into view. “I’m nearly certain that The Beast has been pulling his energy from the most human sins a person has to offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The original sin; the creation of humanity. In attempting to bring back a deceased individual, whose soul was no longer obtainable, they instead had made something entirely new. Matter cannot be created; nor can it be destroyed. However, it could most certainly be rerouted. Misplaced. And attached to the body that the magicians had so foolishly transmuted without meaning to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And without a doubt, a beast was born.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em> 🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hey, moonbeam! Thanks for reading.</p><p>Find me on Twitter and cc: @KyojinOuji</p><p>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>- Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. anima mundi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW// Violence, Death Mention, Past Abuse, Past Alcoholism, Past Addiction, Domestic Abuse/Violence, House Fire Mention, Child Death Mention, Suicide Mention ✧</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>“Though, I wish you never broke my heart,</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>I don't want a brand new start.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>I'm not me without my scars.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Though, I wish we never fell apart,</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>It made us who we are and at least we left a mark.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Don't you dare say it was all a waste,</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Cause we would never be the way we are today.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Now we find beauty in all the pain.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>There's a reason for the rainbow through the rain.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Like the butterfly effect, it was only just a speck</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>That made into a broken hearted mess.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Like the butterfly effect, what you get is what you get.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>But I would never change the way we left.”</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <b>
        <em>The Butterfly Effect </em>
      </b>
      <em>
        <span>- Before You Exit</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <hr/>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>
    <span>🜄 ✧ 🜁</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      “It is always unfortunate when things come to an end, isn’t it?” From the static, something speaks as though they have always been friends. In a sense, he supposes that could be true. The world around him is dark, suspended in a constant state of endless abyss. It does not fracture; even when a flash of blue catched his attention from the corner of his eye. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Beneath them, the floor reflects the universe like polished obsidian. He wishes only to see his own face, but instead, something else stares back. Mottled by moths and morpho butterflies, a creature of smoke flickers under his feet. The Beast. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Rather than the dark grey and navy blue suit, the creature now donns a particularly blinding white uniform. From its edges, chains dangle and clink. Their song a morbid reminder of what it is like to be trapped within a cage of gold. Beautiful to look at, but hellish to endure. When the insects finally begin to depart, revealing the individual underneath the chaos, the image is not one that Yeosang expected. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Covering The Beast’s face is instead a white mask. The chains repeat their offense on the surface, however, added to their aesthetic are dozens of small, silver spikes. For a moment, the circular shaping of the chains wrapped appeal mimics the image of shattered glass. When the creature cocks its head, Yeosang sighs in frustration. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      “I know who you are,” he says, his voice rippling through the air like an unforgiving tide. “Take off your mask. It’s pointless to leave it on.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      “You’re no fun, Kang Yeosang,” the man in white says. However, his fingers reach for the clasp of the obstruction nonetheless. When it clatters onto the floor with the sharp, ringing of metal, the Necromancer does not scream. However, his chest burns and toils as though the sound is rolling within. “Not what you were expecting?” it asks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      San’s face warps just as Yeosang finally lets the scream tear loose.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeosang!” A voice tears through his own like a dull blade. When he shoots up in bed, the sheets falling off of his bare chest like a rippling waterfall, the real San is hardly an inch from his nose. “Good God, are you alright?” he asks frantically, patting the older’s shoulder until his breathing begins to steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>San’s dark eyes are filled with concern. Yeosang would love to say yes. He would love to tell the man before him that he doesn’t have a single bit of lingering fear from the nightmare. However, it would be a bitter lie. So, instead, he reroutes his response entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you in my room?” the blonde manages, nearly letting his tone crack under the pressure. “I thought we weren’t leaving until morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>San looks sheepish at that. “I couldn’t sleep. I was on my way back from grabbing tea in the kitchen when I heard you scream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think I woke anyone up?” He would hate to be a burden. Especially now, before they left Avalon to visit his betrothed. San shakes his head, though, guiding instant relief right through his veins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was in your head,” San says softly, intertwining their fingers above the blankets. “You screamed my name in your dream and it broke past any mind barriers you had up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Yeosang utters. It’s such a stupid response. A word that offers nothing to his worried lover– could he even call him that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it that it wasn’t a pleasant dream? At least, I hope you don’t scream like that in bed. I’d be worried as shit,” the brunette rambles. He’s trying to draw the older’s mind off of things. For that, Yeosang can’t help but press a kiss to his temple as thanks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” he murmurs against the skin. “Go back to Woo. He’s probably wondering where you went.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or he’s starfishing in the center of our bed,” San responds with a smirk. “You sure you don’t want to stay in our room? I can probably scoot him to the edge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeosang hums, running his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair, and offers the younger a shaky smile. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. You’re only just down the hall.” Even as he says it, he wishes he could force the words back down his throat. However, his resolve was as certain as the day he confessed. They would take things slow. This time, things would be different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before San leaves, he asks a silent question with the quirk of his brow. When Yeosang nods, the younger leans forward to kiss the birthmark beside the blonde’s eye with a grin. It’s sweet, really, to be treated like a flower petal. Soft and delicate, but still beautiful. And then, San is turning on his heel while calling out a soft ‘goodnight!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the darkness consumes him again, Yeosang doesn’t feel quite so alone. The Beast cannot reach him well within the castle walls. It wouldn’t dare try. However, there was always tomorrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would be travelling to Okrod Al to meet Taeyong and seal the deal. He shouldn’t feel so apprehensive about the journey, but with a creature made of his darkest sins on the loose, he definitely had a right to be. Carefully, he snuggles back into the sheets with a frown. The bed smells like winter; cinnamon and sugar peppered with spearmint. Rolling onto his side, Yeosang feels the way his hair slips over his cheek. It tickles before fanning out on the silk pillowcase beneath his head. Everything is comfortable and oh-so-cozy, but when his eyes flutter shut, all he can hear is the crackle and pop of static. The cacophonous beat of insect wings. The nightmare he created.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how many times he shoots out of his cocoon in search of The Beast, the corners always stand bare. An overactive imagination. A poorly timed panic attack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls the blankets over his head and wills his heart rate to slow down. Even as his body thrums with nauseous electricity, he knows better. It was all a dream. The Beast was not inside the castle. And yet, the rationalization does not bring him to the sandman’s door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun rolls in before he even has a chance to see his own dreams. When Chan wanders into his room to wake him, he takes a step back at the sight of Yeosang sitting cross legged on the floor. The blonde, eyes closed, hears the sorcerer’s light footsteps as they carefully approach him. With a sigh, he cracks a lid just enough for the brunette to catch his frustrated gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there a reason you’re meditating instead of sleeping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there a reason they call you a sorcerer instead of a magician here?” Yeosang bites back with a tired frown. Chan chuckles softly and holds a palm out to pull the younger from the floor. Yeosang takes it; fighting the urge to stay put. It wouldn’t serve them well if the fiance didn’t appear before the ruler he was marrying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Tír na nÓg is </span>
  <em>
    <span>made</span>
  </em>
  <span> of magic,” Chan offers. “Not everyone masters it here, however. That’s a job for sorcerers. Utopia is just a school for sorcery when you come to the Tír.” It makes sense. Earth was far removed from magic as a whole. Leave it to English to completely simplify the concept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair,” Yeosang mumbles, brushing his pants off gently. They were a simple, black cotton style that reminded him of the sweatpants Yunho had given him all those months ago. The thought makes a shiver run down his spine involuntarily. How had things changed so quickly? Being a magician was supposed to be something full of illusions and minor mending. How had he ended up with an ability nearly extinct?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tattoos ingrained into his skin tingle as he absent-mindedly thumbs through the sheer chiffon on his puffy sleeves. He was a walking transmutation circle. Bound to necromancy like a walking soul-bag. Where was the fairness? Maybe in the past, he had wanted to become the main character of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Treasure Key.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Maybe he wanted to be free. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, seeing that very world spin around him like a carousel cranked up three times faster than it needed to be, he can’t help the way he claws at his skin. When would he wake up? When would things go back to the days he sat at the kitchen table with Wooyoung and laughed about botched one-night stands over cereal?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t a long journey,” Chan mumbles as they enter the corridor. “Frankly, if it was just a few miles shorter, we would be sending you alongside the Travellers. Sehyoon and a few of the other Wisps are particularly talented in that aspect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Travelling?” Yeosang asks, trying to place which guard Chan is speaking of. A man with black hair and vivid green eyes comes to the forefront of his memory. On his finger, a wedding band glints. “Sehyoon is Byeongkwan’s husband, correct?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chan nods, pushing one of the many wooden doors of the castle open. In the distance, he can make out the antsy figures of the other magicians. “He is, yes,” he says softly. “Although, you could probably guess that from just glancing at the two of them. Byeongkwan looks at his lover as though he wove the constellations just for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he is correct. The Fae stand next to each other, Sehyoon’s fingers around Byeongkwan’s bicep, and seem entirely in their own world. None of the other selves aside from the Avalonian kings are present. Somehow, though, Yeosang finds himself glad for that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had nothing against the beings, however, he could only handle the discomfort of Jongho the Banshee sizing him up for so long. He was like a sentient microscope– always searching for some subtle difference between his own Yeosang and the Necromancer. And while there were plenty, he never seemed to find the one he was specifically looking for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wooyoung is the first to spot the duo as they approach. When he catches the blonde’s eye, a blinding smile built on the bones of the past paints itself onto his lips. It is three bounding steps before the brunette is wrapping himself around Yeosang like an unforgiving batch of ivy and rose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the magician’s cheek. Wooyoung grins, turning Yeosang’s head just enough to smash their lips together. For a second, he feels like the world has melted into a pit of hot butter. He can taste something floral and berry-induced lacing Wooyoung’s tongue. His heart races as the man deepens the kiss. His fingers work their way into the hair at the nape of Yeosang’s neck. And when he pulls away, the older knows that his face is flushed for more reasons than he can count. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A blond strand falls into his peripheral. Breathing heavily, he processes it slowly, and makes a noise of defeat as his hand finds its way to the back of his head. The hair he had so tediously worked into a small ponytail now lays flat and loose. Wooyoung, a devilish grin still coating his features, waggles his eyebrows suggestively. He shows off his wrist-bound prize with a giggle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For my collection,” he says, gesturing with the maroon scrunchy he tore from Yeosang’s hair. “I think I’m almost at forty-five now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wooyoung,” Yeosang grumbles, pointedly lowering his voice. The other man waves him off with an innocent smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was just a kiss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did it end up like this…” San hums, wrapping his arms around Wooyoung’s waist. His chin settles on the younger man’s shoulder just as he catches Yunho’s confused stare. “It's a song. Why are you eyeing me like the sheltered kid you just can’t wait to corrupt at band camp?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of band camp did you go to?” Mingi gasps. His sandy hair falls into his eyes, but does little to mask the genuine shock that dances on his features. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t,” the Traveller says with a shrug. “But I was in a church choir, so it’s basically the same energy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yunho makes a frustrated noise at the off-topic descent. “Aren’t you upset that Wooyoung kissed Yeosang in front of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>San’s grin turns cheshire in a heart-beat. “Yeah, I’m upset that I didn’t get one too.” So much for taking things slow. A strangled noise makes its way out of Yeosang’s throat as he leans forward just enough to tug San’s face an inch in front of his own. If he wanted it so badly, he could finish it himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And finish it he does. San nearly topples over Wooyoung in his scramble to kiss Yeosang. Somehow, the other brunette remains upright, but cackles something saccharine when San finally manages to press his lips against the blonde’s. It’s not an intense moment, and is far from the desperate scene they had in the library, but it still makes Yeosang’s heart flutter like a million balloons set to lift off from the grounds of a graduation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When San pulls back, he wears a look of pure adoration. In his eyes, Yeosang can see himself. Flushed and flustered, he knows that he walked into this on his own. Yet, he isn’t as embarrassed as he feels he should be. Even with Hongjoong hooting behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop that,” he mumbles to his ex-boyfriend. The blue haired only tosses him a toothy smile. How could someone have so many teeth? Yeosang rubs his cheeks absentmindedly, hoping that the blush finds its way back to the depths from whence it came. Hongjoong lets out a loud guffaw and pulls Seonghwa against his hip. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Asshole</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Yeosang thinks fondly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, this is a thing now?” Jongho asks, gesturing between San, Wooyoung, and Yeosang. “Like finally we don’t have to watch you dorks dance around each other for the rest of eternity?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awh, Jongho,” Yunho says, one of his arms falling over the youngest’s shoulder. “Does that mean you want to spend the rest of eternity with us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The red head mumbles something under his breath that sounds particularly like, “Do I have a choice?” before Yunho plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek. The man screams, batting the older away frantically. He hardly manages to detach him, however, before Mingi starts the cycle of terror over. It’s enough to draw King Hongjoong’s attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad to see you all so energetic this morning,” he grins. “However, don’t waste that motivation before the journey begins. It doesn’t do well to sow all your seeds before you have a chance to plot the placement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeosang fights back a chuckle when the human Hongjoong pulls a face. He is diplomatic enough not to taunt his other self out loud, but that certainly doesn’t mean the thoughts aren’t there. Somehow, he schools his expression into something less revealing. When Seonghwa snickers to his other side, he crosses his arms over his chest with a pout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you all ready to travel then?” King Seonghwa asks. His head tilts just slightly, but it makes the chains attached to his winding horns clink as they collide with the dark keratin. For a ridiculous second, Yeosang finds himself picturing small bells attached to their metal caps. He isn’t a cat, but if he was anything like their own Seonghwa, a warning of when he was rounding the corner could always be nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wooyoung breaks him out of his distracted throughs with a loud sound of agreement. Somehow, the man found it exciting for them to be moving across kingdoms. Even more so, it seemed, that they would be meeting Yeosang’s dependable fiance. He could only hope the royal was kind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seonghwa continues with a warm smile. “It is one day’s ride by carriage. However, it is best for you all to take a break halfway. None of you are accustomed to the lay of the land and I can guarantee that the terrain has a way of jostling bones.” Yeosang fights the shudder that runs through him. Odd phrasing, of course, appeared to be another trait that carried between the other selves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll stay in an inn overnight, I’m assuming?” Hongjoong asks quietly. “I’m not particularly fond of insects.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s because you’re so sweet,” Mingi mumbles, “that’s why bugs like to suck your blood specifically, hyung.” Hongjoong squeaks, batting at the taller’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chan shrugs. “The halfway point doesn’t necessarily run through any particular village, so you may have to fair against the wild for the night.” When Hongjoong lets out a strangled noise, the professor barks out a laugh. “Kim Hongjoong, you’re a magician. Tell me that you at least know a tent spell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hongjoong gasps, throwing a palm over his heart, and pouts. “Of course, I know a tent spell!” It isn’t until the group is settled comfortably between two carriages that he throws his head into his hands. “I don’t know a tent spell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jongho does,” Yeosang mutters, focused on the healing charm he has been trying to cast over San. “You need to stop pushing yourself. Rest when you have to,” he tuts at the younger. San groans and leans back in his seat the moment Yeosang’s fingers leave his temple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not pushing myself,” he grunts, ignoring the pointed glare that the other four shoot his way. Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang, had all elected to occupy the same carriage. Jongho, Yunho, and Mingi, took the other due to ‘the length of their legs’. Yeosang hardly wanted to imagine what they were actually doing in the other space. In a separate carriage, the six guards Chan had stationed with them kept a close eye on their surroundings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only other human, a man going by the name of Ravn, had been incredibly welcoming from the moment the group met him. “We will protect you so that you can get home safely. I know better than anyone how it feels to be held somewhere against your will,” he told Yeosang with a delicate smile. “Just trust us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the sun begins to set, they come to a stop amidst a small clearing. It is close enough to a nearby falls that they have the opportunity to bathe, should they so choose to, but no one appears to be inclined to do so as they set about building the tent. Jongho, mouth pinched into a frown, places his palms together. With a single swift movement, he forms an upside down ‘V’ and then uses the momentum to pull his hands apart entirely and flatten them against the ground. Then, using his right hand, he flips it over and bends his middle and ring finger until they sit nicely against the heel of his palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spiderman?” Yunho jokes, wrapping his arms around the younger’s waist as the orange tent erupts from the ground. “You know how we can’t create or destroy matter? Does that mean this tent already existed somewhere else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Odds are,” Jongho says, leaning into Yunho’s touch, “I just stole it from some family’s camping trip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation is one that no one else hears, but Yeosang watches from a distance. He missed having the others present in his life. Most of all, he missed the way Yunho always knew how to help everyone else unwind just when they looked scarily close to snapping. When Jongho excuses himself to go help Mingi fish, Yunho meanders over to the shade where Yeosang has begun weaving mats out of nearby vines. The last thing he wanted to spend his night doing was sitting in the dirt around a fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pink haired boy plops down next to him. His nimble fingers find white clover blossoms in the grass as he watches the way Yeosang braids strand after strand of the thick ivy together. Or really, it probably isn’t ivy by definition. It isn’t something that he has ever seen on Earth. He can only hope he won’t give the entire party a sick case of ass rash if the plant is poisonous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Yeosang’s thoughts dance in a separate direction from reality again, once more picking up every consequence imaginable, Yunho starts to speak softly. His own hands work to make a small crown, fit for a toad, out of the tiny puffs. “Mingi to me the red ones are good for menopause,” he mumbles, staring at the flora held loosely between his fingers. “And PMS, asthma, indigestion,” he stops and wiggles his brows when Yeosang meets his eyes. “STDs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeosang can’t fight the giggle that spills from his throat. “Do you think I need something to treat an STD, Yun?” he asks, only laughing harder when Yunho’s face flushes crimson. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Oh my god, no! I just...” he pauses and chews the skin on his bottom lip. “You haven’t smiled like that in a while. I was getting worried.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were worried?” Yeosang utters, feeling his heart plummet into his stomach. “Why were you worried?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yunho doesn’t speak for a moment. Instead, he scratches the back of his neck with an uncomfortable grimace stitched into his expression. Yeosang flicks his wrist so that the vines continue weaving themselves as he turns to Yunho. When the older man looks back to him, the bashful air remains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I encouraged you to see Hongjoong and Seonghwa. I thought that the breakup might have hurt you more than you were letting anyone know,” he whispers. “It’s unfair for me to assume something like that, I know, but you just remind me of my older brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brother that Yunho never spoke about. The one that Yeosang had so stupidly tried to bring back with Jongho. The one that changed their lives without even having to be present. Yunho smiles sheepishly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so convinced that you can do everything on your own. I just don’t want you to forget that we’re here for you, Yeosangie,” he says softly. He pulls Yeosang’s hand into his own carefully; as though his touch might disintegrate the appendage like ash before the rain. “You’re not going to be alone again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeosang hums. “Neither are you, you know.” The quiet covers them comfortably. And then, the blonde feels as though he should push– as though Yunho is begging to vent but isn’t sure how. “What was he like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My brother?” Yunho asks, raising a brow. Yeosang nods slightly, surprised to see the way the Illusionist’s expression brightens with the opportunity to be free. Just this once, he isn’t being regarded with pity. And he dives right in. “He was the kind of person you wanted to walk you down the aisle. Like, not as a groom, but as a parent. He would never let someone see their worth as less than what it was…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world around them doesn’t cease to exist, but Yeosang notices the way it becomes easier to breathe. Yunho tells tale after tale with a smile to rival the sun. And every moment is another that changes the gloom that had settled over them for weeks. If Yunho’s brother was exactly what he describes, he was everything celestial and wonderful. A silver mist that only few get to experience. It’s no surprise that Jongho sought so desperately to bring back his radiance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not angry, you know,” Yunho says suddenly, breaking off halfway into one of his childhood expeditions. “Jongho looked up to him– Daeho, I mean. They were inseparable because they both had this weird thing for music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone has a weird thing for music,” Yeosang says with a frown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not like them,” Yunho mumbles, gnawing on the end of a clover stem. “Daeho played emotions. It was like watching him pick out the most vivid, heartbreaking feelings before handing them to Jongho.” It’s then that the redhead returns with a basket of fish in tow. Mingi smiles widely and offers a gentle wave when they catch the two older boys staring across the way. “Jongho basically can paint those feelings with just his voice. It probably sounds like I’m just a lovestruck idiot, but I swear. One day, he’ll be ready to do it again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s when Yunho helps him to his feet that he realizes it; Jongho hasn’t sung since they met. And by the sound of it, it’s been a bit longer than that as well. Yeosang offers Yunho a slight smile before the taller bounds across the clearing to help the others with their catches. Maybe one day, they would hear his melody again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prepping the fire should be easier than it is, but Wooyoung only frowns at the bundle of kindling that they gathered. “I’m supposed to light that?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where’s the bang?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not meant to create a bang,” one of the guards, Leedo, says slowly. The Asrai looks absolutely befuddled, but does little to press the matter much further. Even when Wooyoung and San burst out into cacophonous laughter. One of the other guards, a Cat Sith named Seoho, chuckles before whispering something in Leedo’s ear. The other man flushes; evidently understanding Wooyoung’s joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nonetheless, Wooyoung snaps his fingers. The pile ignites instantly and brings a loud cheer from the group. In the burning light, Yeosang can see the way the brunette’s confident smile falters. He can see the way he nearly collapses beneath the weight of his own body. And he can see the pallor that digs its claws into his best friend’s flesh. Within seconds, Wooyoung is excusing himself to the safety of the tent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeosang follows after telling the others to settle around the flames and get comfortable. He also tosses out a soft request for them to save two plates of food for them in the case that this took longer than he expected. Within seconds, he is behind Wooyoung in the canvas hideaway. The brunette does not immediately respond to his appearance, though, instead he falls to the floor with a heavy sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It never gets better,” Wooyoung mumbles into the silk fabric of his pants. “Sangie, why doesn’t it go away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeosang makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat. He didn’t exactly have the right words, but he had the comfort that he could only try to offer the younger. “Some things don’t go away, Woo,” he whispers, kneeling beside the other. His arms find their way easily around the brunette’s shoulders, tugging him to his chest. “Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to forget,” he says. “Can you just…” Wooyoung stops. “I’m sorry. I know you want to take things slow, and it’s not like we’ve done anything in a while, it’s just a lot. Give me like twenty minutes and I’ll be back out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeosang bites his lip. He could just as easily tell San to take his place; to give Wooyoung a moment that they have also shared. However, the red coal of desperation burns deep within the pit of his stomach. Wooyoung was asking for him, not San, and was in pain. With a sigh, he presses a kiss to the brunette’s temple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can help you relax, but is it going to upset San?” he asks, his voice low. “I know we’re a thing, but that doesn’t mean that everything is fair game right off the bat. It’s going to take some adjusting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wooyoung pauses. And then, he turns just enough to press his lips to Yeosang’s jaw. “You’re right,” he says, breath hot against the older’s skin. “We need to talk about things when we get home.” The brunette adjusts their position so that his thighs straddle Yeosang’s. “Just kiss me for now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so, Yeosang obliges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, San is the one to finally enter the tent. In both of his hands, he cradles the meals that Wooyoung and Yeosang so easily let slip from their minds. Wooyoung’s tired form is propped up on one of the nearby cots. His half-lidded eyes hardly land on San before he is skittering across the room and throwing himself at his boyfriend– their boyfriend? The boyfriend? Yeosang runs his fingers through his hair with a sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need a scarf?” San asks, raising a smug brow and glancing pointedly at the red splotches Yeosang knows for certain will bruise later. When the blonde makes a high-pitched noise, the other man cracks a smile before handing off the plates. “How are you feeling?” he directs to Wooyoung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better,” he mumbles quietly, digging the tip of his fork into the crisp salmon. “Sorry, I probably freaked you out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did,” San hums, threading his fingers into Wooyoung’s hair. It’s the kind of gesture that has little thought behind it, and yet, still reflects the intimacy within their spirits. “I figured that we could just talk about it once everything is over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wooyoung’s dark eyes flicker from his food to San’s face and back again. With a sigh, he sets the fork back onto the plate. “Or now,” the brunette murmurs. “I’m in a sentimental mood, so we might as well get it over with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>San’s brows furrow in a way that makes Yeosang suck his bottom lip between his teeth. The Traveller was angry, that much was obvious, but the way Wooyoung seemed to dance around the concept was more alarming than anything else. “Why are you making it seem like it’s a task to talk to me about this?” San asks. “We don’t have to do this yet if you aren’t in a good mindset.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that,” Wooyoung grumbles. “I just don’t think there will be a moment where I want to talk about this. So, it’s now or never, you know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” San says, “I don’t know. Enlighten me.” Wooyoung wanted an extra bang when he was lighting the fire. Now, it seems like he might be bordering on an explosion instead. “Why won’t you let me be there for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not everything is about you, San.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wooyoung,” Yeosang warns. “Stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Sangie,” San growls, leaning forward. “Let him tell me exactly what he thinks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better yet,” Yeosang barks back, grabbing both of his lovers by the scruff of their necks. “How about you both take a breather? We’re all in shitty moods with shitty life experiences weighing us down, but using them as a way to cock-strut is fucking stupid.” He glares between the two. “Either we start communicating our emotions like adults or I’m not taking another step into this relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When both men fall deathly silent, he releases his hold. Carefully, he leans backward until his back hits the wooden frame of one of the cots. Resting his head on it, he maps out the constellation of lint on the tent’s ceiling. It could be a dragon if one closed one eye, tilted their head, and then shut the other too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to push you both into uncharted waters,” he says. “But polyamorous relationships don’t work if you refuse to talk to each other. We can’t walk blindly through a dense forest and hope that we don’t hit any snags.” Yeosang lifts his head to see both men and their weighted gazes. “I want this to work, so let’s try to clear the air. Here and now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems like an eternity before Wooyoung’s fingers intertwine with Yeosang’s. And then, his other hand finds its way to San’s lips. It’s subtle, but everything that he needs. Even when Wooyoung tickles his ribs like a gremlin set on destruction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you were always meant to be a writer,” the brunette says, swiftly dodging the way Yeosang attempts to smack his shoulder. “You have a way of waxing poetics.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s beautiful,” San laughs. “But on a serious note, where do we even start?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wooyoung freezes. His gaze falls onto his lap as he raises a hand slowly. “I’ll go,” he utters. Taking a deep breath, he lets the confession tumble from his mouth like toxic sludge. “I killed someone. Fuck, I killed a few someones.” His head hangs low as San falls absolutely still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was fifteen. We were still in high school, but I still can feel the way the flames touched me while I slept. It’s why I hate being covered by blankets. I’m scared that something might happen again and it’ll be too late for me to save everyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not following, babe,” San whispers, reaching out for Wooyoung’s hand. As though they’re a ring of school children sitting on the playground, the trio somehow intertwines their fingers carefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wooyoung sucks at his teeth. “My dad was shitty. I mean, the kind of person that holds you down and presses cigarettes to your ankles because you tried to tell your grandmother that he was beating the ever-living shit out of your little brother with a belt every night, shitty.” The words come out as a flash flood. And still, Wooyoung pushes on. Even as his fingers dig crescents into Yeosang’s palms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He never treated my mom right and I guess they had me to try to fix that. Like they thought bringing a whole human being into the world was going to help something that could have been solved with ink and their signatures. And when it didn’t, they had my little brother.” Yeosang watches the way the light filters out of San’s eyes. Wooyoung, as far as the brunette knew, was an only child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck,” San whispers, grip tightening. “You don’t mean…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it wasn’t my dad,” Wooyoung murmurs. “My brother died because I’m a selfish fucking asshole.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wooyoung,” Yeosang tries, but the youngest waves him off subtly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wooyoung shakes his head, dark strands dancing around him like a deep aurora. “One night, my dad found his comfort in a bottle of whiskey. My mom and brother were at my grandparents’ because of some TV show my mom wanted to record. So, my dad passed out in this stupid leather La-Z-Boy my mom bought him after his lung biopsy. What the bastard didn’t know is that he left a cigarette burning in the ashtray. It fell onto the carpet and ignited the house in seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll never forget waking up to all of the smoke. I thought I was choking, you know? It was like being smothered alive and no amount of clawing at my face was going to help me breathe again. So, I just stumbled out of the house as quickly as I could. But do you want to know what I thought? I had the fucking audacity to hope that my dad didn’t make it out alive. That the doors locked behind me. And apparently they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I still remember his face in the window. He saw me, out there on the lawn, and do you know what he fucking mouthed? He said he loved me. As though all of the battered-women's shelters my mom dragged my brother and I to through our childhood could just disappear because he found it within himself to tell me that he loved me. Who does any of that to someone they love?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that isn’t even the kicker. The firemen said that all of the doors were locked from the inside. That my mom and brother came home after the show. That no one else got out because my dad supposedly locked the doors behind me because he was planning a murder-suicide. They called me a survivor. But I’m the one that locked the doors. I’m the one who didn’t know how to control my magic and let my thoughts get the better of me. I’m the one that killed my entire family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tent is quiet. As the stillness falls over them in sheets, Yeosang feels the way his throat constricts with the memory. Back then, Wooyoung had thought it was a fluke. That his father truly did plan for this to happen. But they always knew it was something more. Something difficult to even think of and so far outside of the realm of morally correct that it was impossible to call it human. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>San, however, just nods. And in the silence, he pulls Wooyoung against his chest as the younger sobs. And then, San drags him over too. It is only a matter of time before the three of them wind up on an empty cot; damp and salty from the layer of tears that Wooyoung had waited so long to see. By the time the brunette passes out from pure exhaustion, San’s eyes are hardly open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeosang feels the same tug on his own lids. Yet, when the other boy meets his tired gaze, he still manages to form a single coherent thought. Dropping his barriers for a split second, he lets San into his mind. At first, the younger doesn’t seem to process the access he has been given. And then, when Yeosang lets his mind meld with the other’s for a breath, he sees the tension drop from San’s shoulders. It’s a simple sentence, but it holds all of the power in the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Thank you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>🜃 ✦ 🜂</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Find me on Twitter and cc: @KyojinOuji</p><p>I always follow back and love new friends.</p><p>- Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. ouroboros</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW: GRAPHIC Violence ✧</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“Each step I left behind; each road you know is mine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Walking on a line ten stories high, say you'll still be by my side.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I could take your hand–</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If you could understand that I can barely breathe;</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>the air is thin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I fear the fall and where we'll land.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We fight every night for something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When the sun sets, we're both the same;</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>half in the shadows, half burned in flames.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We can't look back for nothin'.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Take what you need, say your goodbyes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I gave you everything and it's a beautiful crime.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Beautiful Crime </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>- Tamer</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>🜄 ✧ 🜁</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      Okrod Al was fragrant; like lotus incense and mist. That was the first thing Yeosang noticed as their carriages came to a halt just outside of the kingdom. The sandstone gate, attached to two high towers, was manned by a handful of soldiers dressed in olive and jewel tones. It would be a lie to say the bows slung over their shoulders and the quivers on their backs were reassuring. Instead, the blonde finds a shiver running down his spine at the sight. How many times had they used them? And rather, what made a threat into a target?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Taeyong means well,” Hwanwoong whispers. The guard had been stationed beside Yeosang as his personal watch-hawk. “Okrod Al is a trade district for textiles and materials. Of course, there are plenty of thieves that try to utilize it as such.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So, the guards are just for show?” San asks, cocking his head. “Or like, do they actually shoot thieves?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why the interest?” San and Wooyoung’s shared knight, Xion, mumbles. “Are you planning to steal something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Better not,” Hwanwoong grins. “That big one? He’s a hell of a shot.” When Yeosang’s gaze lands on the particular soldier, the man is already staring back. His dark hair has been pushed away from his face and only adds to the intimidating air that buzzes around him. “Lucas wouldn’t hurt a fly unless it was targeting Tae.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung leans back in his seat as the first carriage is waved through the entry point. “You speak pretty informally about someone who’s supposed to be royalty,” he says, glancing toward Hwanwoong. The elf nods, his pastel-painted hair falling against his forehead like streamers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I grew up here,” he says with a smile. Small fangs poke past his lips. “Taeyong was the first person I was supposed to protect. I flunked out of their family’s training course though.” He studies the metal bands that line his fingers. “Hongjoong’s older brother, Maddox, found me in the human realm. I ran away to some place called ‘SoCal’ and was busking on the streets to survive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The way the man speaks of SoCal like a far-off land takes Yeosang by surprise. No matter how bizarre it was to be surrounded by Fae, the worlds had begun to blend together. He could almost envision Hwanwoong sitting outside of a cafe while sipping on a coffee, as though he was just a college student. None of these people were human, though, and once they went home, there would be no reason to see them again. The thought stings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As their carriage pulls in front of Lucas, the soldier gives a gentle smile. “Avalon’s finest, I see,” he says, winking at Hwanwoong. The elf laughs and pretends to shoot a kiss back in response. “Which one of you is destined to be the newest King of Okrod Al?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang hardly has to signal at himself before the entire car is pointing in his direction. With a sigh, he raises a hand. Lucas, however, finds the ordeal endearing. Carefully, the man reaches through the window to offer him a fist-bump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Surprisingly, I think you might be Tae’s type,” the soldier tosses out. “It would be nice to see them come out of their shell for a little bit. You’ll at least do that, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang nods, chewing tenderly on his bottom lip. They had yet to explain the entire plan to the royal. It had simply been a hope that he would be able to return to the human realm. “I can try,” Yeosang whispers just as the carriage begins to move again. He could definitely do that much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeosang, you–” Wooyoung starts. The blonde shakes his head softly, waiting until they clear the gate before he makes a move to explain himself. Once they do, he sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The other Yunho only mentioned that Taeyong wasn’t interested in marriage. It’s not like we had time to really finalize the plan with them, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung frowns. His brows pull together in a near grimace as he refuses to shift his heavy stare from Yeosang’s own. Two could play at this game however. Yeosang was a known champion of staring contests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re not staying here,” San interrupts. “And neither are you,” he directs toward the other brunette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “If you all don’t mind,” Xion says carefully, immediately drawing into himself when the magicians turn to him. “Wooyoung’s problem is one I can help you all solve easily.” He makes a show of rolling one of his long silk sleeves over his elbow. As though moving like a flash, he pulls a pin-like dagger from the holster on his thigh. In the center of his forearm, he drags the thin blade. Rather than blood, however, flowers spill from his delicate flesh. As though creating their own meadow on the red, carpeted floor of the carriage, they cover the base quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With little pomp and circumstance, the Fae reaches down to pluck a purple hyacinth from the expanse of fresh flora. When he glances back at the humans, their faces are simply blank sheets of horror. “I’m a Dryad,” he chuckles, pushing the bloom into Wooyoung’s palm. “When you’re ready to go home, plant this. It will enable you to create a living doll that will take on all of the burdens you no longer wish to carry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’ll erase my bond to the Tír na nÓg?” Wooyoung asks, turning the bloom over in his fingers. Every slight movement jostles the vibrant petals dangerously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It won’t eliminate it, but it will misplace it,” Xion says sympathetically. “The Tír na nÓg doesn’t let go of her possessions so easily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang watches the flower intently. “Why a hyacinth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The Dryad shrugs. “Do you know the language of flowers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Flowers speak?” San mumbles, leaning close to the garden that has bloomed beneath them. When Yeosang shoots him a pointed look, the Traveller makes a strangled noise. “Sangie, I’m not stupid. I know what he’s talking about. What does that one mean though?” San punctuates the statement with a well-timed jab to the blonde’s ribs. Yeosang can’t stop the fit of giggles that spills from his throat. Damn Wooyoung for giving up one of his greatest weaknesses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It means regret,” Yeosang says quietly. “Apollo named it after his lover who was murdered. Hyacinth blamed himself and flowers grew from the man’s blood.” San’s smile drops as he glances between the Dryad and the Necromancer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Xion nods. “By planting your regrets, you can nurture yourself to better accept them.” When he waves his palm, the meadow formed from his spirit crackles and bursts into glittery confetti. “Dryads were born to help people escape, you know. Apollo has a long running history of destroying things that we hold dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s only right then to use his own mistakes against him?” Yeosang asks, a pang sheltering itself in his chest. “Is Apollo real?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The Dryad makes a face. “Just because something is labelled mythological and legendary doesn’t make it false. Everything has its place in reality, you know. And not all is meant to fit just one narrative. That’s the danger of a single story,” he says softly. There is venom beneath his words, writhing like a pit of snakes. Yeosang does not wish to tread too close to where the poison is laced. “Everything has a purpose— it just might not be dedicated to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The ride through the kingdom’s vivid streets is silent after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      By the time they arrive at the castle, Yeosang’s ass feels like it was directly on the horses’ backs rather than a cushy, velvet seat. With a frown, he leans forward just enough to draw a whine out of his throat. Why did everything have to be sore? When he glances to the left, San is rubbing at the base of his own spine with a grimace. Hopefully, warm baths were in the foreseeable future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Xion exits the carriage carefully and holds out a palm when Yeosang teeters like a leaf on the doorstep. “Gentle, magician. You’re about to be royalty.” The words come with a soft smile, as though the ice from earlier dripped off like spring dew. Yeosang can only nod and accept the stable hold silently. It’s then that a soft chuckle draws the group’s attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Before them, an ethereal being stands with their arms crossed tightly over their chest. Their hair is waist-length and the most stunning platinum that Yeosang has ever encountered. Various strands have been braided intricately with reds, golds, and blues. And, as though the Fae offers solace, butterflies of crimson, moss, and lavender settle upon the nearly-white canvas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Their silken bodice is embroidered with gold thread and cerulean beads. A single movement makes the fabric ripple as though the seven seas have blessed their sights all at once. The train of the gown follows them slowly as they take a few calculated steps toward the group. And Yeosang feels almost disrespectful when he finds that he cannot tear his gaze away from the individual’s legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In the center of the over-dress, there is a massive embroidered slit cut to reveal an incredibly tight, incredibly short white skirt. The whole outfit is tied together by thigh-high boots that gradient from pale silver to sky blue. And evidently, the Fae catches the way his eyes linger. With a smile, they bow heavily. It is only then that the thin, jeweled circlet upon their head comes to his attention. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Taeyong</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Your Highness,” Hwanwoong says with a bow. “You look wonderful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Thank you, Hwanwoong,” Taeyong murmurs, accepting the kiss that the guard places on the back of their hand. “It is an honor to see you again. I do have to be blunt, however, which of you is Yeosang?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Their heavy gaze does not leave the blonde’s face, especially as he raises a hand slowly. And then, the royal does something unexpected. They sigh in relief and take another step forward. “You have no idea how glad I am that you offered to do this,” they say in a rush. “Come with me then, we best get started on the rituals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I don’t understand,” Yeosang calls out before the other gets too far. His fiance moves quickly, but not enough so that Yeosang finds it impossible to keep up. “Why are we hurrying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Taeyong stops abruptly, the hard sole of their shoe scuffing on the sandstone path through the castle gardens. Off to the side, a lotus pond rests like a beacon of reality. It’s just like the ones he visited once at his parents favorite botanical garden. The same where blue butterflies sat on his cheeks, brushing their wings against his eyelids like shooting stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You want to go home, right?” Taeyong asks quietly. Within seconds, The human finds it impossible to breathe. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to stay here,” the royal continues. When they glance back at him, their expression is distant. “I’ve heard about Earth. All of the amusement parks and cities with their neon lights. Why would anyone give up that kind of life for something like the Tír na nÒg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang feels his heart plummet. “It’s nothing against you—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I know,” Taeyong smiles sadly. “I only have one request, Kang Yeosang. When you return to Earth, don’t forget me.” They turn on their heel again and beckon him to follow. This time, they find a similar pace, and possibly a little more in common. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The others arrive at the castle sweaty and irritated. Before Yeosang can even apologize, Wooyoung is pressing him to a wall and kissing him senseless. When the younger man finally parts, he mimes snarling at the blonde before pushing him away. The sight does not make Taeyong stall in the slightest. With a chuckle, they bow at the rest of the party. Yeosang sees the way they use a long sleeve to hide their grin. Wooyoung, evidently only just realizing what he did in front of Yeosang’s fiance, makes a high-pitched squeak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I thought the other black haired one was your lover,” Taeyong directs at Yeosang with a laugh. “Now, I’m realizing they both are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We are,” San responds from somewhere behind Yunho’s tall silhouette. “Which is why we’d really like it if you don’t make him stay here after the wedding.” As he speaks, Yeosang can hear the desperation that hisses between his teeth like a finely-punctured balloon. “He belongs back home–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The royal holds up a palm, swiftly cutting off San’s protests. “Yeosang and I have already discussed it,” Taeyong murmurs. “However, I find your bravado admirable. Just don’t speak that way to anyone else in the Tír na nÓg. You might lose your head.” They chuckle as the Traveller’s hands clasp tightly around his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang bows gently, before lowering himself onto one knee. The room falls silent as the thin fabric of his pants brushes the castle floor. Taeyong cocks their head to the side, sending ripples of platinum hair down their side, and watches the Necromancer closely. Drawing in a sharp breath, Yeosang stares back intently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Do you have a blade?” Yeosang asks, not truly directing it at anyone in particular. When Leedo passes a ruby encrusted dagger to the magician, he wastes no time sliding it’s glassy edge along the sensitive flesh of his palm. It flashes scarlet, beading and dripping down his wrist like rain, and draws a gasp from his lips. However, that does not stop him from focusing his gaze back onto the leader before him. “A blood pact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I can see that,” Taeyong whispers, furrowing their brows. “But why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So that you know I will never forget you.” For a moment, Yeosang sees the memory as clear as day. Past the iridescent emotions that have since blended with him, he sees Hongjoong. He remembers the day of the exam and the trick that the older played on him; the scar that puckers the soft skin of his inner elbow. “Someone told me once that a physical reminder is enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Without another word, Taeyong takes the blade from Yeosang’s hand and draws it across their own palm. With a quick step, they close the gap and intertwines their fingers. “Then, Yeosang the Whispered Lionheart, I will forever remember you. Long past the hour in which your human soul sings. Long past the era in which your name is remembered by those of Earth. May your existence find reason in the stars and your mind within the falling sands of that ever-so-ethereal hourglass that traps us all.” They smile and press a soft kiss to his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “May this union bring us more than simple misfortune.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Taeyong leads them wordlessly to the damp, dark dungeons of the castle. “The ritual is something that must be completed by all of you, but only three will house the Cacodemon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “House the what?” Mingi mutters, teeth chattering with the sudden temperature drop. “No one mentioned demons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Don’t you think that was probably the point?” Jongho asks. “If the kings would have dropped the word ‘demon’ into casual conversation, I’m pretty sure we would have run to the high hills.” His gaze lands on Hongjoong whose eyes twinkle with something mischievous. “Except maybe you. Your gremlin ass would have been the first to volunteer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hey!” Hongjoong barks, frown twisting his features. “I’m older than you. Where’s the respect?” he asks, stopping just long enough to rub his knuckles roughly against Jongho’s scalp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, closer to a rumble than it is to laughter, and throws his hands up in mock surrender when his boyfriend whirls on him with a devious expression. “You couldn’t reach my head if you tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Come down here and let me see–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang coughs, startling his exes out of whatever powerplay they were starting. The last thing they needed was the two of them disappearing into one of the empty cells to test out the accommodations. Hongjoong, blue hair ruffled beyond belief, only musses it up more as he makes some excuse about traveling for too long. The Necromancer only shrugs in response before Taeyong brings the group to a stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “A Cacodemon is a creature that is bound to your vessel in the form of a tattoo. While I have never been forced to host one, I have heard the experience isn’t exactly pleasant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San shutters, carefully intertwining his fingers with Wooyoung and Yeosang’s hands. “And you want three of us to just let you carve us up like Thanksgiving dinner? Who the hell do you know that has had one done to them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “My brother,” Taeyong says softly. “The crown prince did years ago, before he left for the human realm. It was a last resort in case anything went amiss while he went on a retrieval missing to locate his fiance.” They don’t meet the group’s eyes as they hum something quiet to themselves. “A Cacodemon gives you unlimited magical power in exchange for something of equal or lesser value.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What if you don’t have enough to offer in return?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Then, it takes your soul and you become a Niffin; a beast ripped from their humanity. Unbound by morality or emotion, you’re forced to wander between realms with volatile magic bouncing off of your body like electricity.” When they no longer continue, Yunho is finishing in their stead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Did your brother come home?” There is an air of sympathy that comes with the question. One that promises how well he understands the royal’s pain. And when Taeyong meets his gaze, confidence wavering, it is obvious that he hit the nail on the head. The Fae shakes their head subtly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Taemin’s Cacodemon was merciful. The value of its power was his spirit.” They pause, focus training onto Yeosang. There, they find his uncertain expression like shells before the tide. “There is a kindness in not allowing someone to lose themselves to greed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And maybe the blonde could say something of that effect as well. He thinks of the way the Gate revoked his sins. Was it a gesture of kindness? To take away the negative emotions that found a way to drive humanity and instead replace them with emptiness was not a pleasantry. Instead, it was a threat. A promise of what was to come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He doesn’t find it within himself to tell that to Taeyong, however. Not with the Fae grieving so much already. And then it dawns upon him. Those stupid books, the ones that he loved so dearly until they acted as a cursed prophecy, had predicted this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Like King Maddox in </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Treasure Key</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Taemin did not die. He lost the memory of the one thing that gave him the will to live: his love. He could not find his fiance because he could not remember him. Taemin lost the greed that made him strive to return to those he loved so dearly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And maybe Taeyong sees it in Yeosang’s downtrodden expression, but they do not speak of it. Instead, they motion toward the intricately carved wooden door at the end of the corridor with a small flick of their wrist. “The ritual will take place just down the hall. However, I feel it might be best to pick the three that will be taking on the demon now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ll do it,” Seonghwa says before Hongjoong can make a move to even offer. There’s no point in denying him the opportunity. Not when the blonde’s eyes burn with hellfire. “If it means protecting my family, then I’ll gladly do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Awh, dude,” Mingi coos with an impish grin. The corners of his eyes crinkle cutely. “We’re your family?” Before he can taunt the oldest any further, Yunho is smacking him on the wrist with a pout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Would you rather him call us his bastards?” the pink haired asks, watching the way Seonghwa’s mouth drops open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I would never–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You would,” Yeosang interrupts with an eye roll. “Affectionately, of course, but still one-hundred percent in your line of reasoning.” When the blonde sputters spectacularly, Yeosang paints a lighthearted expression onto his lips. “I never said it was a bad thing. It’s precious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San’s fingers squeeze the Necromancer’s, as though reminding him of his presence, before he speaks. “I’ll join the creepy-crawly party,” he shrugs. “Might as well. People always said that I have demonically good looks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m pretty sure I called your dick godly the first time I told Yeo–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It was over </span>
  <em>
    <span>breakfast,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Yeosang mutters. “You had my dick in your mouth at the exact same time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And I said yours was sweet,” Wooyoung laughs. “Things evened out.” Again, Yeosang rolls his eyes. The younger magician didn’t know when to stop. But truth be told, Yeosang didn’t want him to. It made things feel normal. And for once, normal was the only thing he ever wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Taeyong wears a blanket of confusion as the trio bickers. The poor Fae truly had no idea what they had allowed into the castle. But Yeosang raises a hand. “I take it that I’m the last one?” he asks. When Taeyong nods silently, the magician accepts his position easily. “I always wanted tattoos, but now I feel like I’m running out of room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It’s meant to be a joke, and yet, the group stares back as though he slapped them all. Were things always going to be like this? Where his friends couldn’t even laugh at his jokes because they were too busy treading on eggshells? With a soft sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair. The blonde strands tumble back into his eyes as though he did nothing to them. In another universe, he would like to given up the position of ‘the chosen one’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He also does not expect Taeyong to stuff a bottle of Jack into his hands the moment they enter the ritual room. But then, he realizes why. Scalpels of a hundred sizes are scattered about the space like glitter, and for a second, the sight chokes him. In the corner, a wide variety of obvious torture devices hangs on the wall racks like metallic promises. And when Yeosang whips around to face the platinum Fae, they shrug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s the interrogation room. Don’t pay the scenery much mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In the center of the floor, a wide surgical table is settled. Beside it stands a Faery whose skin shimmers like emeralds. Their eyes are an inky black and the only breakup from the darkness is the mustard seed sized white pupil that pins the group from the moment they set foot into the ritual area. Taeyong waves shyly, smiling when the Fae reveals row after row of pin-sharp, glassy teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ten,” Taeyong begins, “did you manage to find all of the materials I asked for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Have I ever done anything you asked?” the Fae snarks back. “It’s the Pixie way not to listen to shit.” Taeyong sucks in a sharp breath at the man’s foul language. It’s enough to make San bust into a guffaw. “I like that one,” Ten adds quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Might I remind you who your loyalty is sworn to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The Pixie rolls his eyes, or at least Yeosang can only assume that’s why the white speck orbits around its inky abyss. He hopes. Ten motions to a nearby work station with every bit of flourish that he seems to be able to muster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh, brave ruler of Okrod Al, find ye’ requests yonder.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ten?” Taeyong says as they march over to the desk, silken gown’s train flowing like the tail of a comet. “Kindly shut the fuck up.” Ten makes a startled noise, but the grin doesn’t leave his lips even as Taeyong glowers. They were obviously close. It’s something that seems so human, so normal, that Yeosang doesn’t have a hard time picturing them on Earth. They would probably have fit nicely into the friend group.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When Taeyong confirms that the supplies are available, they sigh heavily. “Alright then,” they mumble, glancing at the trio of Cacodemon hosts. “Once that alcohol knocks your ability to feel anything right out of the park, we should be ready to start the procedure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I feel like we should have asked this before,” Hongjoong says suddenly, “but what exactly are the Cacodemons going to be used for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Like with my brother, they’re a plan B.” Taeyong doesn’t look up and they busy themselves with readying a needle-like blade. It glitters in the dim-light as they dump a dark liquid into a holding pot and lace the tip. “If the Blade of Thorns shatters before you can rebind The Beast to Yeosang, you’re going to need something to destroy it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That would mean Yeosang never has his sins restored,” Wooyoung speaks up, breaking his unnatural silence. “They’re his, though. We can’t let him walk away without part of himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’d rather die then?” Taeyong asks. Their eyes are driven by ice as they cock their head with the question. “You are running out of options. Don’t forget: this is a favor. The Tír na nÓg did not summon The Beast. You did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Stop,” Yeosang interrupts, his walk already swayed by the liquor that drips through his veins. It feels worse settling like an empty weight in his stomach than it did crawling down his throat. At least then, he knew when the burn would subside. “Just mark me already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you sure?” Wooyoung asks, cradling Yeosang suddenly. When did he get there? Better yet, where in the room were they even standing? Beneath his palm, the tacky wood of the surgical surface winks at him. Yeosang had no recollection of moving to stand beside the table, yet, he was leaning heavily against it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yes,” he says, possibly slurring. Definitely slurring. “I’m positive.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The next thing he processes is the table beneath his bare chest and the way his knuckles flash white as they curl around the edges of the surface. For a second, all is calm, but then Ten is moving his wrist again. And suddenly, the first few minutes of agony hit Yeosang like a ton of bricks. It’s the sharp drag of the needle as it digs into his skin and lays the patchwork for the Cacodemon’s nest. He must black out before it gets too far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The next time he comes to, he is watching Taeyong carry a hot coal out of the fiery hearth nearby. When he focuses on the glowing ember, however, his stomach lurches. It is not a ball of ash. Instead, it is a writhing creature that looks like a cross between a naked mole rat and a caterpillar. Wooyoung immediately blocks his vision when he sees Yeosang’s eyes go wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re doing so good, baby,” the brunette murmurs, pushing Yeosang’s sweaty bangs back from his forehead. “I love you. I need you to focus on me. Can you do that?” Someone else says something, muffled by the blood rushing in Yeosang’s ears, and Wooyoung starts his praises all over again. “Count with me for a second, okay? One…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Two…” Yeosang bites out, the taste of iron thick on his tongue. He must have bitten it sometime in his unconscious state. “Three–” It cuts off in a broken scream. The living ember presses against his raw wound, asking for entrance. When he doesn’t respond immediately, the creature burrows itself beneath his skin anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And he feels it there. Parasitic and wormlike, it crawls under his skin like it was meant to be there. Its heartbeat palpitates alongside his veins in a way that makes his stomach twist and turn with nauseous vigor. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Maybe, it's just as scared as I am,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks before losing himself to the black sea once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      “I don’t mean you harm, Yeosang.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      The creature sits before the gate, legs crossed, and cocks its head. The action spurs the blue morpho butterflies and cecropia moths that have called the blanked canvas home for so long. In a grackle-like gust, they take flight. When the cloud vanishes, Yeosang comes face to face with his tormentor.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      His expression is emotionless, but a carbon copy of Yeosang’d own. When he grins, his eyes darker than Yeosang could ever imagine his own being, the air seems to crackle with unspoken tension. Like chilled glass, Yeosang dares not tread forward for fear of the way it may shatter beneath his weight. And, upon seeing his hesitation, the creature’s eyes flash an unsettling shade of cerulean.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      “Do you fear me?” he asks. “To fear me is to cower before yourself. I’m nothing more than a reflection.” He stands slowly, gaze not faltering, and takes a step forward. “I’ll see you soon.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang wakes in a cold sweat. His body shakes as the seal on his back screams for attention. Every movement is red-hot and laced with venom. And when he shifts, so does the thing beneath his skin. It squirms just slightly and renestles itself against the dip of his spine. Just between his shoulder blades. And within seconds, the contents of his stomach toil relentlessly until he is dry heaving over the edge of a burgundy clad bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A hand settles itself against his cheek when he slumps back onto the one of the many pillows. Its chill is alarming, but once it lies at rest for a few breaths, the feeling grounds him. Drawing him back into his mind, Yeosang turns to face the owner of the palm. And, damn, does such a simple gesture send the ache back through his entire body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung stares back at him, dark eyes wide, and smiles sympathetically when Yeosang hisses at the pain. His black hair has been pulled messily away from his face and is secured with a long white ribbon. Strands twist and turn like dimly lit mazes through the castle corridors from where they lay pressed to his forehead. One thing one distracts the blonde with the way it rests on his best friend’s cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His lover– he corrects. Wooyoung was one of his lovers, and no matter how odd the thought was after relentless pining for years, it was something that brought a drought to his sadness. Until his attention fell to the person sprawled just behind the younger. San. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The man was still unconscious, but covered in a thin layer of perspiration. His skin glittered like starlight where the quelling flames from the fireplace reflected their pity. San, who never asked to be part of such a wild scheme. San with his back laid open and bare. The dark ink of the curling sigil marring his flesh like a brand among an angry, red sea. San; the one who offered nothing but love and admiration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Is he…?” Yeosang rasps, startling slightly at his own voice. Wooyoung frowns as his brows furrow in the center. When the brunette glances toward the Traveller, he only sighs softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He’s alright, Yeosangie,” Wooyoung murmurs, pushing Yeosang’s hair away from his face. “He nearly attacked Ten the moment you started screaming. Seonghwa threw a knock-out charm at him so that he would stop trying to tear the poor dude apart.” His thumb comes to rest lightly on the high point of the Necromancer’s cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His skin is probably just as sweaty. The sticky feeling doesn’t escape his notice, even as he tries to lose himself in Wooyoung’s gentle ministrations. Wooyoung was good at that sort of thing– he always has been. Showing someone just how much he loved them with the tiniest gestures. The tender memories of birthdays, breakups, and falls from grace flash through Yeosang’s mind like spark bulbs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Do you still dance?” the blonde whispers when Wooyoung presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. The other pulls away, a bizarre looking flitting across his face, and tilts his head. Yeosang can’t imagine that his voice is at all appeasing, but Wooyoung doesn’t seem necessarily concerned about that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He adjusts his weight so that he is on his side with a palm beneath his head. “Not really,” Wooyoung finally says. “I haven’t had time. San and I talked about going to a studio somewhere, but I never had the chance to look into it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Not even before The Beast? Or when I was with Hongjoong and Seonghwa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung laughs almost bitterly. “When I thought of you with them, I hardly wanted to dance.” His voice lingers like a broken melody. “You were always the person I danced for, Yeosang. You were the only one that convinced me to keep going. It was always just you in the audience and the practice room mirrors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I never came to watch you practice, though,” Yeosang coughs, the sting on his back screeching with the effort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I didn’t say you were ever actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>there,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the brunette grumbles, fiddling with the blankets until Yeosang is comfortably propped up. “You shouldn’t even be talking right now. In case you didn’t notice, both of our healers decided to play with dark magic today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Seonghwa</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The thought hits him like a bolt. When his eyes turn to saucers, Wooyoung immediately notices. And yet, that doesn’t stop the younger from waving him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He’s fine,” Wooyoung says quickly. His palm pushes Yeosang against the pillow again carefully. “He did better than either of you, that’s for damn sure. Hongjoong is the only reason that stubborn bastard went to lay down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The tension leaves Yeosang’s body almost instantly. While he trusted those in Okrod Al, that did not mean that he was entirely comfortable falling unconscious on the middle of a surgical procedure. Or rather, an artistic one? Judging from the sigil work of San’s back, he wasn’t given a cliche tattoo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Ten’s artwork was stunning. It captured the expanse of a set of three mountains in a triangular formation. Behind them was a sunrise, but on the centermost peak, a small fox sat regally. For something in blackwork, it was detailed beyond the possible range of any piece he had seen on Earth. And to be honest, he could not wait for it to heal so he could run his fingers over the tender flesh without causing the other boy pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung sees the way his gaze does not part from San’s back. With a smile, he cocks a brow. “Do you want to see yours?” he asks, giggling when Yeosang nods enthusiastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It takes nearly ten minutes for the two to adjust his position enough for Wooyoung to cast the duplication charm. It is nearly impossible to turn to and from with the way the creature inside of him skitters around anxiously. However, when he sees the image, a gasp leaves Yeosang’s lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A snake skeleton runs down his back, trailing his spine, and disappears beneath the waistband of his loose pants. Certain sections have been erased, creating the optical illusion of the piece dipping in and out of his skin. And around it, black flowers bloom like a graveyard filled to the brim with life. A paradox. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s beautiful,” he whispers, eyes filling slowly with tears. “Did it take Ten a while?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He refused to budge on any of them.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Yours took the longest. It was probably three hours just because of the detail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ll have to thank him,” Yeosang murmurs. Suddenly, his body is hit with the sheer exhaustion of the last few days. With a yawn, he rubs at his eyes as though it will remove all of the pressure within his mind. Wooyoung leans closer and rests his head on the blonde’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Go to sleep, babe,” he says quietly. “I overheard Taeyong talking to Hongjoong. Apparently, they had the materials sent to King Yeosang and Jongho’s temple before we even got here. The blade is set to arrive tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The end really is coming, then,” Yeosang says under his breath. “Do you think we have time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We can only hope.” </span>
</p><p></p><div class="userstuff module">
  <p>
    <em>🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Hello, starshine! Thanks for reading. </p><p>This sure has been a journey, huh? Are you ready for the last chapter? </p><p>Find me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji<br/>I love new friends and always follow back.</p><p>-Cheers! ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. old king</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>✧ TW// Graphic Violence, Death, Grief</p><p>PLEASE look at the Archive Tags that are included because that is coming into play.✧</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>✧ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!</p><p>(Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ✧</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>“Well, I'm a self-centered writer.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Loving myself to sin.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Stay away from me.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Don't find a way to get in.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>I care only for art and career.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>So scared of death that I try to leave a part of me here.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>I am lonely; lonely in the fact that I need to be loved</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>and told I am deserving.</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>We let us be, just to be</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>Isn't that all we should need?</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <em>
        <span>We need...we should need.”</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
  <p>
    <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qrhmgwhbNJMad7aQ9QSmR?si=7L9HzmwTTgmBvqrHLhy8gQ">
      <b>
        <em>The Pugilist</em>
      </b>
      <em>
        <span> - Keaton Henson</span>
      </em>
    </a>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>
  <em>🜄 ✧ 🜁 </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      With the morning comes the blushed light of understanding. As the gentle rays dance on their bare skin, caressing them with fingertips made of glitter and dust, peace shows itself as an illusion cast among the stars. Things always came to an end, but somehow, this time it felt more final. And perhaps, that was for the better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As children, they were meant to look at the world with boundless, innocent curiosity. Reading about magic and quests was a way to escape the reality that tethered them to the painful Earth. As adults, the goal shifted to something more weighted. Finding magic among the wreckage was just another step in life. Sunsets and neon lights on oil slick pavement were like that. Things that distracted you, even if for a moment, from crashing deadlines and heavy thoughts. The difference between the pavement of the rain drenched bridge railings and the inky black of the sea below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As adults, the goal was to survive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      So, how did they find themselves here? Metaphorically dancing among the Fae in a world that had always existed beneath their feet. He had expected a beautiful melody, and instead, was given something shattered and downtrodden. The Tír na nÓg was not the childish fantasy that </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Treasure Key</span>
  </em>
  <span> spoke of. It was not a casual stroll through fragrant garden paths of nostalgia and rose petals. This land was built on the blood and bones of humanity and sought only to tear them apart bit by bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Before his thoughts can stray much further, though, a chin settles itself into the crook of his neck. Wooyoung. His dark eyes flutter open when he feels Yeosang shift to face him. Wooyoung, whose beauty was always unmatched even as a gap toothed child on the playground. Wooyoung, who smiled with food in his mouth. Wooyoung, who danced in the kitchen wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt, boxers, and mismatched socks. Wooyoung, who meant everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The man smiles when he meets Yeosang’s gaze. In the pastel light of the day’s birth, his irises catch the scattered fractals. Yeosang always knew that his intelligent eyes weren’t just a solid brown. Instead, they were speckled with a million tones of green, hazel, and gold. Flecks of a promise that hung heavy on his tongue. And, God, was he brilliant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      No one had given Wooyoung credit for how smart he was when they were still in school. Instead, everyone sought to tear the boy down to his looks. They ripped into him time after time, reducing him to nothing more than a pretty face and delicate figure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The soccer players who fucked him beneath the bleachers would tell the rest of the team during locker room showers. The girls from the theater department knew the hidden unisex bathrooms in the ‘F’ hall of the building, just behind the stage. Once, during “Phantom of the Opera”, a stage-hand left her mic behind on purpose, just to prove how far Wooyoung was willing to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And every time, Yeosang was called to the principal’s office on grounds for suspension. Towards the end, it was closer to expulsion. Violence didn’t solve things. Blackmailing blackmailers at their own games did not solve things. Yeosang should not be responsible for solving things. And yet, he always tried. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      “You should just let him go, Kang Yeosang. You’re one of our best students. Don’t risk your future for someone like him.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      It was probably only right when the balding man gave him a week’s worth of suspension. It’s not everyday that your top student slams his fist into your nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And now, with Wooyoung smiling up at him as though he hung the moon and her glorious stars, he knows that he would do it all again. He knew, all those years ago, that he would do it again and again and again, even as his knuckles still throbbed with the ache of the impact. Even when his thumb was set into a splint because he foolishly tucked it into his fist and shattered the bone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he would do it over until the day he died. Afterall, there was only one Jung Wooyoung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Good morning,” the brunette whispers, lips brushing over Yeosang’s jaw. “How’s your back?” Wooyoung asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Right. The pain was still there, however, the Cacodemon didn’t seem too keen on reminding him of its presence. And for that, Yeosang is thankful. He could handle the extra layer of protection. What he couldn’t fathom was the thought of a sentient parasite living beneath his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sore,” Yeosang responds quietly. His gaze travels the expanse of the bed as he speaks, searching for a certain raven-haired psychic. When he sees him, his heart palpitates. San’s face in sleep was free of whatever brave mask forced himself to don. It was timeless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung must hear the soft breath that Yeosang lets escape his lips. “He’s alright, Sangie,” the boy says. “He woke up in the middle of the night and got out of bed for water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You let him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I didn’t really have a choice,” Wooyoung chuckles fondly. San was stubborn. They both knew it, and yet, Yeosang still found himself rolling his eyes. “He’s very persuasive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The tone makes Yeosang’s cheeks flush crimson. That wasn’t a new development, of course, but the unrestrained confession in Wooyoung’s voice is enough to turn the blonde bashful. And with it, comes the brunette’s muffled laughter as he tucks his head against Yeosang’s chest. His shoulders shake with the effort of hiding himself as Yeosang makes a distressed sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Did you two fuck while I was asleep?” he whines. His face is only growing redder by the minute and he can most certainly feel it. “Like right next to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No,” Wooyoung chuckles, pressing a kiss just above the collar of Yeosang’s loose sleep shirt. “I mean, he sucked my dick, but–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Wooyoung,” Yeosang hisses. “He’s injured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Before the younger can respond, another voice joins the fray. “He’s also ready to do it again if you two don’t shut up,” San mumbles, rolling onto his side with a cat-like grin. “Only if you want me to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang decides in seconds that he would rather smother the Traveller with a pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It’s when they join the group for breakfast that the plans begin to bounce off of the walls. The food was pulled from the human realm by changelings that served the crown in Okrod Al. Even so, it made Wooyoung obviously nervous with every bite. And rightfully so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      On the other side of the table, Taeyong is nearly falling asleep. Their hair is pulled into a high ponytail and they are wearing something close to regular sweatpants and a hoodie. Rather, they might be just that. It’s a comfortable outfit, but most certainly one that does nothing to scream wedding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jongho must pick up on the discrepancy as well. “I thought you two were getting married,” he mumbles, glancing between the Fae and Yeosang. “Aren’t royal weddings supposed to be big and elegant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Taeyong laughs, shoving a piece of jam smothered toast into their mouth. When they finally swallow it, they shake their head. “It’s all for show anyways. Yeosang becomes a king and I get to do whatever the hell I want for the rest of my life. It’s a pretty good pay off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So, no wedding?” San mutters, eyes falling onto the tray of warm biscuits that has just been set out. “Even Wooyoung and I had a wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You got hitched in a hotel chapel,” Yeosang mumbles past his tea. The admission makes the rest of the magicians snort. Yunho, in particular, fights to stop orange juice from coming out of his nose while Mingi coughs to conceal the way he choked on his own breakfast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “At least it was a chapel!” Wooyoung squawks. “Your fiance doesn’t even want to have a ceremony!” Despite his best friend’s indignation, Yeosang takes a long sip of his drink. The steam smells like its floral, lavender contents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I don’t either,” the blonde says. “It’s too much effort and it’s not like we have time for fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He doesn’t think it’s too outlandish to bypass such a spectacular event. Sure, as a kid he always dreamed of having a wedding. He wanted it to be in a forest clearing and themed around</span>
  <em>
    <span> The Treasure Key. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But back then, he also thought he would be marrying Zac Efron. As an adult, it was just exhausting to even think about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Seonghwa makes a quiet noise at the other end of the table. Everyone turns to him slowly. When he feels the weight of their attention on him, his eyes grow saucer-wide. “There is a cannibalistic beast running amuck,” he says softly. “I don’t think it’s too out of line for us to skip the formalities entirely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hwa is right,” Yunho adds on quietly. “As much as I would love to see how hot you both look all dolled up for your wedding day,” he says, glancing between the betrothed members of the group, “there’s too much at risk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jongho hums beside him, his fingers drumming along the Illusionist’s arm. “Not to mention, it would draw a lot of attention. I mean, a royal wedding? Shit goes viral on Earth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang sighs and sets his mug back onto the table. “So, do we just pretend that we did?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Taeyong pauses, a bite of their meal hovering on their fork. “Rituals are important, I suppose,” they say, finally eating the food in front of them. Wooyoung makes a tired noise next to him that sounds like ‘fuck rituals’ before the Fae is giving Yeosang a contemplative look. “Have you heard of handfasting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang nods. It was a Pagan tradition based on the symbolism of giving the other person your trust and loyalty. It was something his own parents had done. But the thought makes his mouth quirk down at the edges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I would have to return to the Tír na nÓg for the second portion of the ceremony.” Traditional handfasting came in two parts. The first taking place on the day of the wedding and the second a renewed binding a year and a day later. In order to participate in both, Yeosang would need to once again cross the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Not if we forgo it,” Taeyong mumbles. “The blood pact is enough to make me feel confident that you will not forget our bond, Kang Yeosang. Why would I force you to face your demons twice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “This realm is not filled with my demons, Your Highness,” the blonde says quietly. He hopes that the stern tone doesn’t reflect back to the Faery. It’s not on purpose. It is born purely from the agony of the situation. “You deserve to do yourself more justice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Taeyong stares back, an odd expression flitting across their features. For a split second, they are the epitome of a caged bird. Trapped and confused, the Fae pouts slightly. And then, a smile takes over that bizarre look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I appreciate the gracious way you view us, Yeosang,” they say softly. As the table falls back into cautious conversation, Yeosang lets the tide take him back out to sea. In another world, maybe he would find it within himself to truly convince the Fae of their worth. In another world, maybe he would stay here. But when he glances between Taeyong and his own lovers, the realization strikes him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The only universe in which he would consider living by the royal’s side would be one without a particular duo of dark haired magicians. One of which sits beside him, dunking a sugar cookie in honey repetitively. When Yeosang cocks a brow, Wooyoung immediately stops trying to drown the poor treat. He grins wildly before stuffing the entire thing in San’s unsuspecting mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Their other lover chokes slightly. When he manages to regain his bearings, he slaps at Wooyoung’s wrist in quick repetition. The younger brunette only cackles as San produces a guttural sound that could only be described as a growl. It does nothing but spur Wooyoung’s chaos on even more as he tries to reenact the scene. Leave it to both of them to completely ignore the sentimental thought process that Yeosang had found himself in. He could be the chosen one of some massive, overlaying prophecy and he would still choose these two men instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A universe without them would never be worth it; no matter if saving the world was an extreme sport that only he could master. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✧✧✧</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Once. Twice. A third time the satin rope wraps around their intertwined hands. It’s a deep crimson, swirled together with a section of blue, and dotted with dainty, white forget-me-nots. Wooyoung, his face a blanket of indifference, does well to hide his emotions in front of the royal family as he officiates the ritual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It was only a small ceremony, just as they had discussed, yet Taeyong had kept the attendees a secret. It doesn’t surprise Yeosang to see the group of magicians’ other selves, along with the guards, present. King Yeosang and Jongho had even come bearing the finished Blade of Thorns. Energy radiated from the crystalline surface like an aura of magical power. The blessing that King Yeosang had placed on it was stronger than anything Yeosang himself had ever been in the vicinity of. The magic of the ancient Fae was far more intricate than Earth castings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      What does confuse him, however, is the way Taeyong’s family does not speak. Okrod Al’s reigning king and queen look listless. As the other royals presented the magicians with the dagger, Taeyong’s parents instead kept their distance. Despite their direct involvement in the creation of such a weapon, it seemed they wanted no connection to it. Both hardly meet his gaze, even when he tries to offer a reassuring smile. Perhaps, they were nervous to see their only remaining child be bound to someone for the rest of their life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Blessed be,” Wooyoung whispers as he pulls the final string just tight enough. “The rules say that the fast lasts until midnight.” It’s a quiet comment, but Yeosang knows exactly why a glint of desperation passes over his lover’s expression. They were going home. Soon, but not quite yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It wasn’t uncommon for anxiety to eat at Wooyoung. As children, Yeosang found it easier to keep a tight hold on the boy’s knee when they sat in class before presentations. The constant bounce of his leg paired with the way he chewed at the skin surrounding his nails was enough to make Yeosang’s own nerves blast through the roof. And now, seeing San in the crowd with a blank boketto look something of heartwrenching quality, the blonde has to force himself not to do the same to Wooyoung right now. The three of them would be home soon. Free to do whatever the hell they wanted once The Beast was gone. Once he was himself again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But in the orange rays of the burnt sienna evening, it may have been a dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang sees the figure before he processes the scene before him. Oh, how blue contrasts so brilliantly against the vibrant sunset. It is like watching a snowglobe shake just enough to startle the glitter from the bottom of its icy base. And then, it is the feeling of shock that comes when the polished glass slips from one’s fingertips and crashes against the gift-shop tile. The Beast has made his move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hwanwoong, his broken form just beyond the ivy and white petunia lattice gate, calls out a warning. It’s subtle, nearly too quiet for Yeosang to hear, but when he watches the world crumble in slow motion, it becomes all too obvious. Before Hwanwoong can call out again, The Beast lifts him from the grass with a single flick of his wrist. And that is when Yeosang sees it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A sixth finger has been added to both of the creature's hands. On one, the wound looks fresh. The red flesh glares back, even from this far away, and Yeosang’s stomach drops. The Beast had given himself a boost. Something to simply put him far out of the bounds of the realm of magic the blonde knew so well himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      For a moment, the Faery guard in his grasp just dangles there. It’s not as though he can do much in that position, but it doesn’t stop him from trying with all of his might to draw his sword. And then, Hwanwoong’s form sails through the air and slams against a nearby oak. The crunch it makes as it hits the base sends a chill down Yeosang’s spine. The hair on his arms stands at attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Blade!” Yeosang yells, frantic gaze dancing around the clearing. “Where the fuck is the dagger?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Here!” Hongjoong calls back. His shaking fingers work to pull the Blade of Thorns from the wooden box it arrived in. It’s stone casting shimmers; contained flames, with lightning fractals of cyan, magenta, and yellow iridescence running through its figure like veins. But just as Hongjoong manages to free it from its velvet-cushion prison, his form is yanked backward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The Beast, his head obscured by the usual cloud of insects, casts something quickly. Every finger works individually, as though not even connected to the same body, and Yeosang cannot suppress the shudder that runs through him. It’s just when Hongjoong presses the blade into his palm that The Beast takes the opportunity to pull whatever invisible rope he has placed on the Physical student. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Hongjoong screeches and throws himself on to the ground. His nimble fingers work to mimic a splitting motion, combined with the gesture of cutting something with scissors. A severing charm. Yet, he casts it too late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Within a breath, the blue haired boy is tossed to the side like a rag doll just as a long, crimson gash seeps through the silk front of his blouse. The light material soaks up the blooming flower like a rose born from misery. It’s at that moment that Seonghwa’s scream pierces the evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hongjoong!” he cries, rushing toward the other man. When his knees hit the dirt, he frantically pats his boyfriend’s body. Yeosang tears to their side, pulling Taeyong like a dog on a leash. The Fae does not complain, however. Instead, their body has gone absolutely rigid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Heal him!” Yeosang barks, trying to drag the magician back to reality. “Seonghwa, heal him before he goes into shock!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He’s already in shock,” Taeyong whispers, laying their free hand on the wound. “I’ll mend him, but I need time.” Their gaze lands on the dagger cradled in Yeosang’s arms. “Cut our binds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “But the ritual,” Yeosang mumbles almost deliriously. “I don’t want to ruin things–” After everything Taeyong had given up for him, this was the least he could do in return. The royal, however, nearly tears their hair out in aggravation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Kang Yeosang,” Taeyong growls, “sever the fucking ties before I do it myself.” With wide eyes, the Necromancer fumbles with the blade. Carefully, he slips the rigid edge beneath the satin rope and saws until the threads give way. Once Taeyong’s hand is free, they rub where the material once dug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The moment of focus does not last long, however, as a scream tears through the space. Before Yeosang can even register the owner, his attention lands on the struggle. To their right, The Beast has pinned Jongho to a nearby tree. However, the creature is not acting quickly. Instead, its body has been restrained by dozens of roots that have seemingly been pulled from nowhere. Mingi and Xion work to cast rapid spells at the natural elements around them. Clumps of dirt stick to them like filthy party hats. The image nearly makes Yeosang chuckle, despite the hellfire of chaos licking at their heels, but the terror on Jongho’s face makes him stop immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His eyes are blown wide in horror as The Beast lunges against its restraints. Its movements are jerky with every lurching tug. Just over the being’s shoulder, the red head catches Yeosang’s gaze. He is desperate. And Yeosang is forced to watch as the youngest member struggles fruitlessly to escape its vice grip. In that moment, he looks like a child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Jongho, get out of there!” Yunho cries, working his way through an intricate shield spell. No matter how quickly the Illusionist works, it will still take too long. The roots confining The Beast are beginning to smoke around the edges, flames licking at their bases. Jongho notices it too, but instead of moving, he shuts his eyes tightly. As though blocking out the creature would make it go away. As though it would change everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      However, Yunho’s voice attracts The Beast’s attention for just a moment too long. Its grip slackens, allowing Jongho to cast a smoke charm, before slipping out of the way instantly. The boy had planned a diversion since the beginning, it seemed, but there hadn’t been a second to use it. And now, as the Apprentice of Knowledge tears across the clearing, Yeosang is thankful for whatever deities are watching over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      That is, until a voice surfaces from beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Go free,” he hears Seonghwa whisper. In a flash, the eldest’s Cacodemon is shooting through the air. In a wisp of black smog, it slams into The Beast’s back. Jongho, hardly out of the way of the blast, dives just in time. When the explosion hits, no one is left standing. A body slams into Yeosang, forcing him to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Fuck!” Yeosang screams. However, before he can push the form off, a hand winds into his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sangie, are you okay?” San asks, cradling the older. He brushes the dirt out of Yeosang’s eyes carefully, paying extra attention to the corners. Wooyoung is wrapped around the blonde, his head tucked into Yeosang’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You didn’t have to cover me,” Yeosang whispers as San peppers his cheek with light kisses. Rather than responding, his lover only offers a sad smile and presses a final, chaste kiss to the Necromancer’s lips. Wooyoung takes the opportunity to squeeze his lovers’ fingers tightly before wiggling free. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re both alright?” Wooyoung asks, making to stand. When they nod, San panting lightly from teleporting so quickly, the brunette makes a pleased sound. “Is Hongjoong…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He’s fine,” Yeosang mumbles, “Taeyong is working on the wound. The Beast–” Yeosang stops abruptly. Where the Cacodemon landed sits a massive crater. “Oh god,” he whispers, rushing closer. A quick headcount shows that the only missing being is the creature itself. However, when Yeosang reaches the edge, The Beast sits in the center. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The demon had been off mark. Rather than completely annihilating the terror born from within himself, Seonghwa’s Cacodemon had only managed to damage the left side of The Beast’s body. Its skin, raw and red, dangles from its still covered face. Around it, dozens of dead butterflies and moths lay scattered like morbid confetti. Yeosang’s gaze lands on the being’s left arm, hanging limply at its side, and a bizarre sense of security settles over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You can’t cast with six fingers,” he calls, smiling wickedly. “You can’t do </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>to us when your little advantage just got wiped out.” He takes a step forward. “Why don’t you show your face, you stupid bastard? Show everyone what you showed me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The Beast only stares back at him through the thin cloud of blue, red, and brown. It's a level look. But it is one that eggs Yeosang more as he takes another step toward the crater’s edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Fucking show your face!” Another step. “What do you have to hide? You’re done. The game is over.” Another step. And, God, the detail on the damage is intense. Chunks of flesh seem to have disintegrated from the man’s body on impact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeosang,” someone warns in the distance. He can’t tell exactly who. It doesn’t matter, though, because Yeosang is soaring. His body thrums with magic as he itches to shove the Blade of Thorns beneath the mirror image’s ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      “You lose, Beast.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yeosang does not see the creature move. He doesn’t notice the dagger being ripped from his grip. He doesn’t hear the screams. But he does feel the sharp edge pierce his abdomen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      No longer is the creature covered by its living mask. The blue butterflies and cecropia moths have since fled the scene. And maybe, Yeosang should have followed them. Instead, the gored out face of Wooyoung flickers in front of him. The brunette wears a grin as he twists the handle of the blade so that it drags a screech from the Necromancer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you sure?” he whispers. It’s Wooyoung’s voice, without a doubt, but static laces it. “Are you sure that we were playing the same game?” Yeosang’s sight begins to blur around the edges. “I don’t think we were.” He twists the hilt again, laughing maniacally when Yeosang finally screams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It’s San’s face then. When he pulls back, just enough to stare the creature in the eye, his other lover smiles back at him warmly. He loved it when San looked at him like that. As though all of the wonders of the universe had found themselves intertwined with the birthmark painted on the corner of his eye. As though he had never loved before he found his boys. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Here’s the game,” The Beast says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And then, it’s Hongjoong. With his brilliant shock of blue hair mussed like a wild peacock. The bright pink of his pouty lips upturned into a vibrant smile. Hongjoong, who painted visions of glory on his clothing and stained Yeosang’s favorite notebook with tea-tinted rings every time they tried to study together. Hongjoong, who taught him to love for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You pick one to kill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And Seonghwa, who danced among the stars with every chance he had. His grey-blonde strands wavy in a messy way, but meticulously styled to be just that. Seonghwa who was effortlessly beautiful, but acted as though he never had a clue. Seonghwa who taught him to love for others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And I let you go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And Yunho, who taught him honesty in the deepest hours of the night. When they sat in the empty dorm, long after Mingi had fallen asleep, and spoke of their dreams. Their memories. Yunho, who was more like a brother to him than anyone he had ever met. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s a good deal,” it coos, breath hot on Yeosang’s skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And Mingi, who breathed freedom. Mingi, whose laughter rang out when he made others happy and whose smile could end wars. He thinks of the night Mingi made him hot chocolate and told him about his dream to become an astronaut. Or a marine biologist. Or anything that let him escape this planet, just for a minute, to see what else the universe had to offer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ll even make it easy for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And finally, it’s Jongho. Jongho, who got them into this mess. Jongho, who gave him no choice. It’s Jongho.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jongho, who loved so deeply that he could never let go. Jongho, who pretended that </span>
  <em>
    <span>As Above So Below</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t make him almost piss his pants when the cult scene rolled around. Jongho, who crawled into his bed, but not because he was scared shitless. Jongho, who laughed like the world was ending, but there was still beauty to be found. Jongho, who danced like an uncle and told dad jokes whenever he could. Jongho, who learned. Jongho, who loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Fuck you,” Yeosang says. “Kill me. Don’t touch any of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Where’s the payoff for me?” The Beast says, rolling its– no, Jongho’s– eyes. With a sigh, the glamour drops. Blonde hair tumbles over its forehead in matted chunks. “You gave me life. Why do you want to take it away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You weren’t meant to live,” Yeosang barks back. He feels it then. The steady drip of iron down his throat. The way it pools on his tongue. Things had always been meant to end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Go free.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      San doesn’t know when he stopped screaming. He doesn’t know when he finally pulled himself to the crater. He doesn’t know when he took in Yeosang’s body, crumpled and raw, tucked at the furthest edge of the hole. And he doesn’t know when Yunho finally pulled him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You have to stop,” the Illusionist whispers into his hair. His face is streaked with long dried tears as he pulls San into his lap. “You have to stop, San. Wooyoung needs you. Please,” the man cries softly. “We need you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      What he does know is the pain that comes in waves afterward. There is a beginning to be found in the ashes of the end. It does not come quickly. And for a while, San wonders if it ever will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      They plant Wooyoung’s hyacinth in Avalon. It rests next to the graves of King Hongjoong’s family, at his own request. The Fae, devastated beyond words, asked them to do it with tears in his eyes and sorrow between his brows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yeosang was unremarkable,” he whispers as he helps them prepare for the journey home. “And yet, if I could wax one hundred poems, they would all be about him.” When the king glances at Wooyoung’s inconsolable form, his eyes fill with a silent plea. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay strong for him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      San doesn’t cry after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wooyoung, once radiant as the sun on a cloudless day, refuses to eat. There are nights when the younger doesn’t leave their bed. There are mornings when he wonders if the other is even breathing. He takes Wooyoung to therapy with Eden. He practices battle magic repetitively with Maddox. He learns to live; to protect. To stay strong. And San doesn’t cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But then, one day he wakes up to Wooyoung curled up on the window seat. He drags his thumbnail between his teeth over and over. Upon closer inspection, and much to San’s relief, it doesn’t look like he is chewing at the skin. Instead, it is a grounding technique that Eden taught him during one of their sessions. When he hears San’s feet pad across the floor, his attention turns to him slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      For the first time since Yeosang’s death, he seems coherent. Excited, even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Baby?” San whispers, a soft smile spilling over his lips when Wooyoung holds out his arms. San dives into them without another thought. And then, he sees the books that have been scattered across the floor. Yeosang’s old textbooks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ve been thinking,” Wooyoung mumbles. “We should try to necromance a Necromancer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em> 🜃 ✦ 🜂</em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>✧ Was that cliffhanger enough of a hint? I'll be back with part two in a few weeks. Until then, I'll be working on some shorter fics!</p><p>Anyways, that was a journey. Thank you so much for sticking through to the end. </p><p>Find me on Twitter : @KyojinOuji</p><p>Cheers!</p><p>- Baz ✧</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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